Season Of My Life

The doors, we pulled off this morning. Like a butterfly emerging from it's cocoon ready for flight, the green, paint worn and faded Clinton era Jeep emerged ready for the warm Sunday ahead. The wind parted the hair on my leg as we whipped past the pines and other freshly blooming trees now arriving at the spring dance. They showcased themselves brilliantly, but only as a blur as we rode on by.

Spring, the word itself a toast to new beginnings. It rolls off the tongue and spins off the cheek all whilst carrying it's excitement in the bucket of freshness. It means that no matter what happened in the last year, no matter what didn't make it to winter or did or won't be back again, that at least most everything get's a fresh start. The second chance becomes more than a Cinderella story and you yearn for you fresh start, your beginning.

Perched on the passenger seat with enough care in the world to be anywhere the seat would take me, I couldn't help but notice that the wind was warm for the first time this year. I stretched my leg out as far as I felt safe for it, all the way. The wind chased itself around my leg and up to my shorts where it celebrated with playful flapping around my thigh. I can't hear the radio with the wind whispering in my ear and the road feels more like a carpet ride than a drive. I smell the pollen waiting to explode like a firework in the clear skies above. I poke my head back in, and let go of my tight grip of the handle at my ear.

The heat from the sun starts to crawl onto any part of me not covered in the shade of the Jeep and I let it advance, awaiting to spring my trap. It never springs and I welcome the invader with a helpless disposition.  I try not to focus on anything but the wind as it raps against my exposed leg and arm. I'm alone all at once. It feels like an eternity until I blink and realize it wasn't that long. The things I saw, the things I did; just like the wind. I was free and soothing. Fluid and powerful. I was warm and cool. I'm in this season of my life, which makes more sense when I consider that I in fact am the season of my life.


Oz never gave anything to the Tin Man that he didn't already have...