This is a day when, sitting on a driftwood log on the beach, heels dug in the rocks or crouched in the garden clearing away the winter weeds, the sun warms your back and the heat sinks deep into your bones. The body responds… a sensuous relaxation, a gratitude and quiet happiness.
Gold is coming back to the sun… no longer that sheer, winter white. Even its color is warming. And what, only two weeks ago, was a fragile lace of green in the trees is now growing lush and luscious. Still fresh and clean… not the worn, dusty olive of August.
These waxing days, like a cat uncurling on a porch banister, are slowly, languidly stretching longer. Cold, dark memories of December continue to dwindle, retreating from the light.