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in your step?

March 8, 2010

Spring returns to LA.

The cold winter had shocked me indoors, into what had felt like it was going to be a perpetual state of yin. But not today. Today the sun is shining, and I feel the urge, for the first time in months, to emerge outdoors again. Into the real world.

I crawl out of my slumber, slip on some seriously thick socks, grab a blanket (the sun may be shining but it’s still freeezing), and return to my stoop. I haven’t seen my neighbours in months. They ask me if I’ve been away, and I mumble something about being antisocial and a recent ski trip, grab my cup of tea and the study notes I’ve been pretending to read for the last week.

The sun is warm. The breeze is cool. My toes are cold. The tea is helping. Oliver girl cat comes and sits on the stoop next to me. Just like old times.

Amazingly, my little garden has survived my neglect. The beets that I planted and forgot about are big enough to pick. A teeny yarrow plant is starting to sprout. The thyme and savory are veritable bushes by now. White sage is worse for wear after all the recent rain storms, some morning glory seeds that I sprinkled into some hanging baskets are blooming with these big pink flowers and, all in all, I’m kinda proud.

Oh, and my nettle patch is growing back. Long after I’m gone from here my flower loving neighbour will be cursing my name and the weeds I have left scattered over the garden.

I sit outside, reading, and chatting to dog-walkers. As I’m playing with Lucy and chatting to her person, Tara, a few drops of water hit me in the face. The sun is shining. And all of a sudden there is a complete downpour. We laugh. I jump up and run back under the awning of my stoop. Within seconds the roads and pavements are drenched. There is a deep rumble of thunder, and a flash of lightning, and yet the sun still shines. It’s that light. That magical light, where the dark clouds and the yellow sun are competing for attention. That magical light that is dense with pressure. The rain sweeps over in an hour. A mini-storm. One that hit West Hollywood, and West Hollywood alone.

Stoop is wet. I go back to the couch. Oliver curls up on my lap and I start reading. Next thing I know my neighbours are standing at my front door giggling at the two of us tangled up in a study-note-infused nap with the front door wide open and the cold breeze rushing in.

So maybe the seasons haven’t quite fully changed yet after all.
Maybe they’re just on the verge of changing.
But I’m antsy for spring.

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