I awake excited, impatient, not knowing a reason. A thin breeze trickles in through the window, left ajar through the night. It carries with it the crork of crows, the titter of sparrows, the scent of a January unseasonably warm. I lie and inhale and then I know my feeling. Outdoors is calling me and I must go.
I throw open windows around the house, the stonework releasing winter into the air, welcoming the freshness into its walls. I see buds on trees, too early, too early, but nature is waking and I along with it.
I leave my hair wild, red and curls and fire twisting in eddies, invisible current, wrapping a message around trees, around animals, whispering across the fields. I feel pupils contract as I turn my face to the sky, that watery blue, distant clouds reminding us that winter still waits on the horizon, a strong battle with this new season of man’s making.
Seeds scatter, each bouncing off stone, settling in its own way, package of energy and nourishment for the birds who wait in the wings. Twigs are gathered, fuel for the fire, the cycle complete, becoming part of the gathering light.
It’s early, this feeling. The world questions, life bursting forth weeks before time, something shifting too fast, warmth spreading a new kind of heat. It is real, it is happening. Outdoors is calling and I must listen to the message on the breeze.