Is it really coming?

The S-word. Spring.
There have been a few times when it felt close. Times when the sun felt warm, and glimpses of daffodil-strewn banks. Pussy willows, skunk cabbage...and mud.
I had hope that the grass, even the weeds would absorb most of the mud created when hurricane Cooper showed up on the heels of our major storm last December.
No such chance.
I'm ready for an eternity of Spring, of Summer...

Detachment...

denial, destiny. I arrive at assumptions of some type of guilt in these. I know that I cannot force anyone to feel a certain way, or do a certain thing. Perhaps it's so. Is it a disservice to allow these sleeping dogs to lie, while the rest of us tip-toe past?
If they wake, a small sacrifice (dignity, comfort and security are good bets) will often mollify the fearsome beast long enough to forget. And wait.
I feel the inkling of alarm bells, but also know where the lines are drawn. I am resilient where I need to be, and fragile when I can.

If this is cryptic, I apologize. I may be more forthright over at myspace, just because some of my dearest friends are there, and because I've been "there" longer, and have my comfy little preferred list.
I have to think that some brighter, warmer days would help. I look forward to them. If I did not have friends, and some indulgences, it would be considerably more difficult.
The error of my ways are just that. Mine. I will do better.

A tonic is the burst of energy I can feel looming with the change of seasons. Many things need doing. I am equal to the tasks, for they are fully surmountable. This is comforting, as is the work I enjoy when time allows. Paint the windows, walls, and clean all of the above. Pieces of cake, each of them.
Ice cream, anyone?