I have been dithering about writing this, the last post of the Slice of Life challenge, all morning. I read some other posts, commented, started a draft, deleted it, did all of that again. I helped the kids, attended an online meeting, cleaned a little, helped the kids again. Finally, my husband suggested I take a walk. I spent a good half hour doing other things before suddenly finding that I needed to rush out the door.
It’s been cold and rainy here, but as I walked I saw signs of Spring. No, wait, that’s not quite true. I went outside hoping for signs of Spring – I wanted to write a post about how Spring is here – but I only saw them because that is what I wanted to see. If I hadn’t been looking, I might have seen only the snow and muck.
Instead, my senses alert for hope, I saw the swelling buds at the tips of branches and noticed where the pale green points of irises poked through snow that had long since ceased being white. I wanted to write that there were snowdrops, but they aren’t out yet. Still, down one street a little girl wobbled along on a bright pink bicycle, nearly falling before finding her balance. In front of me on another street, a child just out of toddlerhood tumbled over the handlebars of her three-wheeled scooter. “Oopsy!” she said, as she stood up and started again. “I have to catch Eleanor.” And she zoomed after her sister, unphased by her stumble.
A lone skateboarder defied the signs posted on the gates of the city park, “Closed except for walkthroughs.” Deep in concentration, he skidded across the cement, back and forth, back and forth, doggedly working towards mastery of some trick I could not fathom. Around me, runners passed and people walked their dogs.
Today, the last day of March, is the first day the puddles in our backyard weren’t frozen when we woke. As of today, the temperatures will stay above freezing. Today I’m reminded that Spring is coming because I’m choosing to be reminded. Tomorrow I may need a prod, but soon enough, Spring will be here and I won’t have to look anymore; it will just be.
Today, and for the last 31 days, I observed my life and found a piece of it – just a slice – to share. I want to find a metaphor in this – the way I wanted to see Spring today. If I look hard enough, the metaphors are there; I can catch them and I could write about them, but they aren’t quite true.
Mostly I want to say that I wrote, and I’m glad I did. I want to say that I loved reading and being read. I loved connecting and commenting. And when the renovations and the move and the kids and the exchange student and the coursework and the job and the virus and the distancing and the isolation and everything – when it all happened, because that’s how life is, I loved knowing that we were all here, together. I loved that.
And Spring is nearly here; I can see it if I look.
Persistence and Pedagogy 
I know how you feel, Spring is barely here in northern NH too. This challenge was a challenge,but all of the connections made it worthwhile. Thank you for sharing.
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I’m in it for the connections; they’re the best.
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😭😭😭
I knew you’d wax reflective. I knew I’d cry. I’m a crier. That’s who I am. And I am grateful for the laughter and the tears, for the friends I know through this community, for those I will see again soon. I’m looking for signs of those times. That’s the promise of spring, and I am choosing to see the promise and the growth inherent in that promise. We’re all here running and peddling toward one another, running to life and away from that awful thing we refuse to bow to. Thanks for being here, for the laughter and the tears, for being steadfast and dependable. Peace and love to you and your family.❤️
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I tried not be all schlocky, but schlock appears to be the way I go these days. Yes, we are all running and peddling toward one another and toward life – that’s *exactly* what I was trying to say. Thanks for always getting me. Stay safe out there.
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Beautifully written, Amanda, and so full of hope – so full of seeing beauty and bits of new life through all the muck. This, too, shall pass … may be slow, but it will … couldn’t be a better image and metaphor to leave us with. Your ending line was a breath of fresh air. Pure faith. I am grateful for it. And grateful, too, that we were all here together during these times of strange change. Enjoy settling into the house … and into spring.
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Amanda, there is such anticipation for gray skies to turn into sunshiny ones, for hope to diminish fear, and for sweet spring to bring it all to fruition. For now, it is time to rest. Our writing journey is ending for now before we leap into another venture. I am inviting you to join me starting tomorrow as I open my channels to bring the voice and artistry of nature to soothe hearts in these troubling times. Nature Nurtures!
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This says so much: “I went outside hoping for signs of Spring – I wanted to write a post about how Spring is here – but I only saw them because that is what I wanted to see. If I hadn’t been looking, I might have seen only the snow and muck.” This is what I need to remind myself about–that I can shift my own focus. That doesn’t mean denying reality, but merely opening myself up to seeing other aspects of that reality, the silver linings. Oh, how I loved being connected to you and other Slicers this month. What a gift amidst this turmoil. Be well and keep writing
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I’m going to miss reading your writing every day. You have such a beautiful way of looking at life and then capturing what you see in words. Thank you for writing every day, even though I know it was hard.
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Great words, even if you don’t feel like you landed on the metaphor, I think your writing or your thought process said it. Writing is kind like hoping. You start putting symbols on paper or on a screen, and you’re hoping that something worthwhile will begin to take shape. It’s like sprouting an idea. So, I see the metaphor in your walk and in your hope for spring. I found this month of writing, in many ways more satisfying than other years, because it felt more like a home. One of my regrets is that I was not better about reading and commenting. Next year’s goal. Maybe I’ll spend some time over the next few weeks going back and finding what I missed. Thanks for your writing and for you encouraging words all month. See you on Tuesdays. I’m determined.
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There’s poetry in your prose and truth in your metaphors. Even when these observations “aren’t quite true,” that slanted quality — and your *noticing* its slantiness (which may or not be a word itself) — is part of the charm, the insight. Thanks for sharing. Wishing you more spring soon.
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This is beautiful, Amanda. Spring is barely here in Wisconsin either. However, I love all that you noticed and shared with us on your walk.
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You had me at “dithering” and I stopped to feel the word.
And this use of polysyndeton: “And when the renovations and the move and the kids and the exchange student and the coursework and the job and the virus and the distancing and the isolation and everything” – wow…amplification perfection.
It really is the looking that matters and that’s what this community has done for me; helped me to look deeper, differently, farther. But your commenting has meant so much – I’ve nominated you. The funny thing is that the comments matter and they don’t matter, to me anyways. And I would have been content to read your writing and your comments. But the added generosity that you showed made this a deeper experience.
I told Sherri what I’ll tell you and all my other female friends. “Keep taking up space.” Your voice is vital and alive.
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I know that feeling of searching for something hopeful, something new. I love your ending. Through it all, we support each other. Keep writing.
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Thanks for the tremendous effort to do this for a month on top of all the other things in your life. You are a gifted writter and a great daughter.
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A beautiful journey – thank yo for sharing it. It was great to connect with someone in the Great White North!
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my senses alert for hope
I love this line. Aren’t we all alert for hope right now… wanting to see it, find it, and write about it. Soon it will just be…and we will be glad and hopefully recognize and appreciate like we never have before. Alert for hope. I love reading your writing. It feels powerful yet familiar.
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Interesting how spring is behaving differently in places. This year it arrived surprisingly early in Estonia. I saw snowdrops in February. It has never happened this early before. Looking for and finding the signs of spring has given light and joy to my days. We wrote for 31 days this month. How cool is that!
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Written with such feeling, we can all empathise with your feelings at this time and how writing this March has and will be different from writing during any other March SOLC. Our world has been iimpacted in a way one would never have been able to predict and you have captured it so well. I love your descriptions of people and things around you, especially the unphased toddler! And those promises of spring….it’s a significant time of the year. Thanks for your slice.
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There’s an amplification to the “seeing” right now, the noticing of things. I appreciate how you captured that feeling here. This, this I just love: “Instead, my senses alert for hope, I saw the swelling buds at the tips of branches and noticed where the pale green points of irises poked through snow that had long since ceased being white.” Your last paragraph is so evocative of all that we experienced here, together. I’m so glad you wrote during this time, as much as it seemed the impossible (and I am in awe of how you wrote so beautifully in the midst of all the impossibilities in your life). Beautiful. See you on Tuesday!
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