3.23

I smell the loose warm air of spring

and fall into my fever… lackadaisical,

nappy, desiring nothing so much as

the closing of eyes and ease.

She, on the other hand, rises to new

heights of enthusiasm. Things to be

done, projects to be joined after the long

winter’s hibernation

I cite my New Englandishness in defense of

my version; fever not of leaping about, but of my

introvert’s resolving down into the innerness of

recharging. She, the extro, scoffs and assures

me that it is the leap out into action which renews.

Each could work, I guess. But not right now.

Right now  …[ yawn]… I need a moment to

sink down, and close these peepers. Wake me

when the summer comes.

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