Without my noticing, the tight leaf buds have completely unfurled. The whole neighborhood is green again. The colorful clouds of flowering trees have passed, replaced by full green canopies with a carpet of fallen blossoms beneath them. The laggard dogwoods are still in bloom, but fading. The azaleas, Southern charmers, started blooming last week. Their intense reds and pinks vibrate with the energy of the summer that will soon be upon us.
A happy chorus of birds and the early morning light helps me greet the day a little earlier. The busy-ness of spring activities helps me fall into bed early and drop into immediate sleep.
I'm feeling a little scattered, like the fallen blossoms. And though the green is welcome, it is also making me feel a little lost.
Yesterday I took a hike in an unfamiliar park, and I got completely turned around. Beside the asphalt path was a mulched trail through the wet woods, which I followed. The broad leaves of skunk cabbage were growing next to fiddleheads about to unfurl. I was enjoying the green in an unconscious way while I listened intently on my iPod to the talking heads dissect the news of Osama Bin Laden's death.
Without paying much attention, I followed several forks in the path until I realized that I couldn't orient myself. The dense green canopy blocked out the sun and the view of my original path. I tried to retrace my steps, but every trail looked the same. I kept walking and eventually reached a private road to homes nestled deep in the woods. I followed that to a subdivision of gracious homes, and then to a narrow country road that led to the main road and back to my car.
Being lost was a strange feeling after following my familiar paths for so long. One moment I was sure-footed and confident, and the next moment I felt alone and hesitant, reliant on very rusty skills. (And isn't it funny that when you're lost, suddenly there is no one around to give you directions? And my smartphone with its navigation app was back in the car.) It forced me to follow my instincts and to take a zoomed-out view of my situation to figure out where I was. I think I may apply that lesson to my creative wanderings, and to my life as a whole.
I hope you are having better luck navigating your wanderings this spring.
