The weather has felt like spring this week and I've been able to walk on the beach -- at last! I've seen tiny buds on trees but no green yet. The only flowers I've seen are crocuses near Rachel's mailbox.
My shell tree is ruined but about 100 yards further along the path this low tangled, dead bush was being decorated last summer and I have begun picking up shells from under the original tree and carrying them here. The bush is low, prickly and not tempting for firewood. The innocent majesty of the original tree is not a part of this site. But it satisfies me that something was begun and can be continued along the walk. , Perhaps a more springlike sign was, along the ocean side, prints of a barefoot walker. Later I settled for ten minutes on a washed up log to listen to the waves and gaze at the horizon. The barefoot walker, a young woman, came striding along. I thought of emulating her but didn't -- I still needed my jacket on although she had her jacket tied around her waist and her arms were bare. Soon, I hope, I'll feel warm enough to walk here barefoot. But spring always gives us a promissory kiss and then turns a chilly shoulder again, some years this happens repeatedly. For this morning, however, the sun is bright on my well protected patio and I think I will take a folding chair and the newspaper out.
The mid-70s are a surprise! Part of me remains in the 50s -- age, I mean, not decade of 20th century. It's a joy ride, new experiences land in my lap and I've become a better quilter, poet, writer than I expected. It's a rich life for a person never rich financially. Hey, this is what the mid-70s are like!