I have noticed a marked increase in traffic and people everywhere over the last couple of days, which here in Florida were the first two days of our “re-opening, Phase 1.” Whatever your opinion of it might be — too early? too late? just right? — we’re in it now, and people are taking advantage of the very slight increase in movement.
But for me and Keely, it was just another morning of walking around Lake Ella and enjoying the dawn.
It was pretty but damp, and spring has fully launched with the earlier sunrises, the humidity, and the mosquitoes.
I was thinking about the connection between thought and emotion — what we feel is often based on what we think, but it is not a static target. “Spring is here” is a fact, and a thought. For some it brings joy and hope while for others it is so neutral as to be meaningless. For me it instills a sense of dread: summer is coming, and another year has gone by. Time is fleeting and all that, the usual rote pithy sayings all apply here.
Spring, though, has always been dreadful.
When I first moved to Florida in my early teens spring was the season of allergies and bronchitis, every year. Spring was the time of Mother’s depressions, as well — she usually kept herself together through winter, but bipolarism cannot be fought only compromised with.
Spring was when all the pretty girls got to wear bikinis and shorts, items that were of course not allowed for me, the child who failed to beautify.
I took a moment to think, well, if this spring in Florida thing is so bad, where else could I be?
I like Lake Ella. I am comfortable in my little slum. I have my habits. But as the sun and temperature rose, I kept rolling the idea around: what else?
What else?