Usually, when I'm walking to my class and the wind is blowing hard at my face, giving life to my hair, pushing my clothes tight against my body, making my eyes water, I am sure that if I just made it to the other side of whatever large building is infront of me, I'd find the ocean. And I keep expecting to smell - and even taste - the salty air. But today, the wind was warm. It was strong. But not a wild strong. A comforting strong. A breath of life strong. A Spring strong.
When classes were finished for the day I meandered down to the canal, and slowly, breathing in the sweetness of this new air, walked up and down, the warm sun beating down on my head, my sweater slipping off my shoulders until I gave up on it all together. Today there was life around. There was sound in the wind. I heard birds. Ducks, always a male and a female together, dove in an excited frenzy up and down, up and down in the emerald green water which is swiftly conquering the ice that's been in its place for months. Squirrels chased eachother over tender grass. The ground is almost like a forest floor, the melting snow has softened it so much that it dips down when you touch it, carefully cushioning your step and then bouncing back up as you take another. My camera in my hands, I thought about the beautiful photo's I missed the opportunity to capture. First, there will tiny pools of clear water that appeared around the tree trunks, tinting the white snow that touched their edges a blueish grey as they silently crept towards the earth beneath.
And soon, there were giant, but shallow puddles that one would assume to be a myriad of mirages, magically turning a parking lot to sky, giving rubber boots, high heels and tipping-toes deep, vibrant roots, and life in a once solid, opaque world beneath. And the water carved away and shrinking snow banks, retreating into nothingness, revealing once again a life that's been dormant all winter. Wake up grass, moss, weeds even. And suddenly the world went from white, to blue, to green. Well, green in the eyes of those who haven't seen it for almost long enough to believe it was gone. Green that appears lush and beautiful to some, brown and old to others. I see the beauty. And trust me, the grass is greener on this side.
To see all the photos:
~Yesterday~
Spring forward.
I woke up, thankful that I'd remembered to look up a bus schedule, and accidently clicked on facebook instead, and happened to read the status of a friend who'd happened to write a note about daylight savings. Some saving grace, I'd say. It was raining. Big, cool drops which sounded like home, falling on my hood and sliding down my sleeves. Warm on the bus, I watched it. I don't know if I'll ever picture Ottawa raining. I can picture it snowing - peaceful flakes, angry flakes, confused flakes. I can picture it sunny - bright colours, sandals, music. I can picture it cloudy - resting, thinking. But rain? Rain is something I need to feel. Rain is something I need to smell. I need to feel my bangs, curling and sticking to my face. I need to feel my jeans, damp and cold against my legs. I like feeling protected by my rain coat.
And I love the rain on the way to church. It prepares me for sanctuary. It makes me thankful. It makes me reflective. It makes me want to sing.
I was alone on Sunday. Not really alone, but by myself in the pew. Lane was sleeping in - but he warned me first, though I had guessed as much. His parents are on vacation. And so I came to church, found my place in the sanctuary just as the choir finished going over their anthem. I prayed. I sat in the quiet, breathing. Katherine, the lady who sits behind me, came in a few minutes later, and our small talk soon turned into deeper, more meaningful, more connected talk. She'd say hello to people who waved at her - and tell me about how wonderful they are. That man, she said, he and his wife would always get together with my husband and I. The ladies for tea, the men for a glass of wine.
He was at the hospital when her husband passed away. He had to leave right after it happened. He couldn't be there. I listen and watch her eyes glaze with tears. They aren't bitter tears, they aren't happy tears, they aren't anguished tears. They are pure love. And she shared this moment with me.
Later, some ladies from the choir who had been sitting in front of me asked me to consider joining. My smile and laugh were about past experience. My joy was about feeling home. I had a lovely conversation with them as we waited to shake Pastor Dan's hand on the way out the door. I stayed for tea, not yet ready to face the rain, or the homework waiting for me when I got back to the university. Normally, I stick to Lane. I follow. We either both follow Lianne, or I speak to who he speaks to, or we just speak to eachother, or we just stand there, waiting for Lianne to tell us she's ready to go. But this week, I was by myself. I ended up talking to so many people. And some people that I've met once or twice introduced me to the people they were talking to, and then that person introduced me to some others, and before I knew it, I was one of the last people there. The couple I was speaking to at this time, Richard and Carol, invited me over for lunch, and I accepted.
And all at once, I felt the love of a congregation come around me. How blessed I am, to have two incredible church families.
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