The snow is melting and the red breasts of the robins come in and out of view through my living room window. A twilight cruise out to Sinte Gleska University will sound the alarms of the prairie dogs, now digging again. Slow drives through the streets of teacher housing or south side Antelope pass you in and out of lazy dog eyesight.
This is when things change.
This afternoon, brother Burt and I made a few circles around the high school as the snow cascaded down the brick walls, now pooling, not drifting against the side of the building. We walked in and out of geometric shadows under a cold sun.
This is when things become new again.
And it’s hard to think about the winter today – the students are awake in the morning and they hang around in the afternoon. People are more pleasant and as color touches the world again.
It has to be this way – there cannot be one perfect morning after another. We could not be the same people if the swoop of the morning lark happened in the frame of our window dawn after blossoming dawn.
We change together and we change with the earth. The only constant seems to be that we are here, expending moments, unspooling the timeline of our lives and peppering it with hash-marks of memories whenever we can.
There is no moral, there is no insight. Today, it’s simply evident that I’m alive and my students brought me joy. In that we will revel as we choose to revel and embrace all of the emotions on the spectrum.
They each mean something.
And so do the Seasons.