signs of spring

The Whistler, he’s back.  (and all those blog entries in between that one and this one is an odd reminder of how much can happen in a short period of time.)

The poet is back, too.  He caught me last summer in line at Andronico’s.  I felt someone staring at me – I hate that feeling, so I turned around to look the culprit in the face.  (tip: boys, don’t stare.  go up and say something, but don’t do what this guy did.)  And that’s when he offered to recite me a poem.  The other day, standing outside of Starbucks with Jack, I felt his stare as he crossed the street.  He approached me and offered the poem.  Fortunately Jack doesn’t like poets. 

Lastly, every day between 6 and 8 pm I get antsy.  No television watching, no chores, no sitting in front of the computer – I have to be outside.  And if I’m not I get really anxious thinking I am wasting the day and the sunlight and every ounce of potential the day may have held.  I’ve done the same thing every since I was young and I used to go outside and sit on the driveway or swing in the hammock or go on very long walks by myself until the light was gone for the day.  I have trouble letting daylight go, and unknown potential for that matter.


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