Friday, April 9

pauses & pond reflections

I'm at the coffeeshop once more, our Internet being down at home for the past few days. In a way, that's nice. Sometimes I wish I could be back in the days of looking things up in an encyclopedia at the library, or maybe even just...thinking about them without knowing the answer. Remember using the phone book? Remember life before cell phones, when you would have to arrange a time to be home to be available for calls?

When Tim and I were dating, I went for a time without a phone, cell or house. Each time we saw each other, we made specific plans for the next time, which we always kept. One morning, after being apart for a few days, I found a note on my car outside my apartment, "Brooke, I stopped by ~ I really want to see you! Find a pay phone and call me. Tim."

Last night we wandered over to a park near our house, and sat overlooking the pond. We watched the turtles watching us, the minnows jumping, the grand-daddy snapper's great bubble trail. We watched mallards in circular flight, orange house lights and pink Eastern Redbuds reflected in the water. Night fell, and the bats swooped. Behind us we heard splashes and we turned to see enormous frogs awaking, sitting on rocks in the creek.

It seems like the whole world is waking up; spring is losing its newborn face. The forsythia is dropping bright shattering yellow over everywhere. Magnolias have completely tossed their thick petals (slick as ice to walk on) and are bare and green. Daffodils have wilted, tulips are popping, trees are puffing verdant and hiding the houses they surround. The PIP PIP PIP-ping of the cardinals in our backyard is driving me nuts. And, one of these mornings, I'm going to wake up really early, when it's still dark, and listen to the bird symphony ringing.