Down the Rabbit Hole

Those Yellow Finches

Spring came to my corner of the world this weekend, complete with a flawless Cerulean sky and temps mild enough to roam about in short sleeves. It felt a lot like a rebirth, and I walked in sheets of warm sunshine, pain-free for the first time in over a week. Looking at that perfect sky through the tops of the mature oaks that line my street, I was both humbled and awed by the beauty of a world awash in the promise of this season of new hope.

A week prior I had been waylaid by the sudden onset of bad back pain. I had been surprised by how quickly and completely I found myself debilitated by an aggressive pain that seem to come out of nowhere. It had pulled me even deeper into my funk. This past year, covid-fatigue, work-stress, and general malaise had contributed to a pervasive low-grade depression – persistent and hard to shake even by all my usual remedies. Combined with this new pain, that malaise coalesced into the perfect, fuck-my-life storm that set off those little alarms in my head. I deliberately set aside the pain killers and focused on keeping that dark sister in my soul firmly in check.

The week progressed and as the pain began to ease and my range of motion improved, I began to breathe easier. I began to feel the black mood seeping away. Then, the weekend arrived and delivered a first day of Spring that was brimming with healing hope. I noticed the return of finches, their winter green coats hinting of the brilliant yellow feathers to come. There were new pockets of crocuses in the yard and the berg was alive with the sound of neighbors venturing out to work on yards or walk the wide streets in the sun.

My daughter and set off an hour before dinner, her on her bike and me, grateful for the occasion to walk after so many days laid up on the couch. I watched her, pumping the pedals to race ahead then turning in a slow arch back to check on me, feeling grateful for the simple moment, for the smile on her lovely face and for the reprieve from the anxiety, frustration and the anger.

This is the power of a new Spring. I don’t know one weekend is enough to reset completely, even if it was an almost perfect one. It is likely that I will have to read a least one discouraging report. I will have to face another hope deflating soundbite from Fauci. I am just as certain there will be more bad days, more moments when that dark mood rolls back up on me. And yet, Spring has come at last. There will be blue skies and sunshine. There will be buds on the branches and new life bursting up through the soil. There will be my little girl and her bike and lots and lots of those bright yellow finches.