Spring is definitely on her way. Gent and I took a walk around the neighborhood the other day, and we saw the shoots of daffodils peeking up through the soil in a flowerpot in front of someone’s house. And a cherry tree was just starting to show her blooms for the spring. I gasped in joy at the surprise of it. I had thought I wouldn’t see any flowers for at least a few more weeks.
All the same, spring isn’t here yet, and I’m having a hard time with the last few weeks of winter. My life has been undergoing a sort of emotional spring cleaning, so I’ve been identifying things that generally make me unhappy about my life. I’ve been doing a lot of reevaluating.
Some things are picking up speed as the weather grows warmer–a friend of mine are in the beginning stages of producing a show of our own choreography, which is thrilling and wonderful. And it makes me feel very blessed to live in a city that is full of a fairly thriving arts community.
But then there are the things about late winter that just remind me that I’m unsure about this city. The one tree in bloom filled me with hope. But that one tree is surrounded by so much concrete. It’s not in a forest. The neighborhood I live in is easily the most concrete neighborhood I have ever lived in in my life, and so much of Philly is like this. I living in a brick rowhouse with a sidewalk in front and then a street. There is no strip of grass. There is a tree, which makes me feel like the luckiest person in the neighborhood. Our “backyard” is really a concrete patio surrounded by a five foot tall wall of cement blocks. And our backyard is about ten by fifteen feet. The view from my bedroom window is the side and back of other people’s stuccoed houses.
The weather is picking up steam for spring, but it’s hard to feel the revival fully. I want so desperately to feel the joy I usually feel in spring, when the Earth begins to laugh her joyous and melodic floral laugh and the colors begin to unfurl from the fingertips of the trees. I want to watch the buds of the daffodils swell with their seasonal pregnancy and then give birth to the yellow sun, heralding the official beginning of spring in their smiling yellow glory all over the city.
But here, there are a few trees to look for the hints of budding, and the single cherry tree’s budding. I feel as if I am missing the most exciting and wonderful parts of spring because the plant to person ration in my neighborhood is so severely deflated.
In these last weeks of spring, I long to go running through chilly dewed grass on weekend mornings. I want to feel the earth waking up beneath my feet. But here, all there is is concrete.
Perhaps I will feel differently in a few weeks when the few trees here and there in the neighborhood, people’s potted plants, our own garden out back are renewed and instead of empty flowerpots, houses will have little worlds of life on their doorsteps. But for now, looking at the dead plants in pots and the trees without leaves, this world feels desolate. Spring is so close, now. I am having a hard time waiting for her. I want to see her smiling face so desperately, to bring new life to this barren and desolate land of concrete and flowerpots. Why is the sun not yet in bloom?