Hope Springs

I don't know why, but as I went on my weekly walk this morning, my vision was clearer and more attentive than usual. Maybe it was the sharpness of the air, reminding me that this is March, not June. Perhaps it was the profusion of natural color. (We associate spring with pastels, but these colors are too vivid and saturated to be represented by the watery, simpering colors given that name in paint and clothing.) Then again, maybe it was a scientific result of the endorphins produced by my pituitary gland, and nothing more.

Whatever the reason, I spent an hour and a half noticing things: two little blond sisters racing ahead of me on scooter and on foot, the younger turning to look back and veering, bumper-car style, into the fence bordering the sidewalk before bouncing back unperturbed; a homeless man wearing a university sweatshirt and walking in long serpentine loops through the parking lot to keep moving until the neighborhood bookstore opened its doors; the slight stoop of the shoulders and downward sweep of the eyes that indicated that an approaching passerby was a dog-lover and might stop to say hello; and throughout, the rich hues of the greenery and blossoms that pushed aside winter's husks.

A dripping nose, sleepy eyes, and creaking knees are the payback for these early morning walks, but sometimes even those well-earned discomforts are precisely what I need to start the day.