It’s that time of year again. I’m caught somewhere between winter and spring, and I really want it to be spring. It’s as if the promise of tumultuous weather mirrors the turbulence within me.
I don’t do well caught in the middle. I want to break away. I find myself slipping on my favorite t-shirt, even if I have to wear a jacket over it. The next thing you know I’ll break out the flip flops.
It didn’t help that we had a full moon the other night. I couldn’t sleep. It shone so brightly through my window that it woke me up and beckoned me to take a walk. In the middle of the night? Maybe this summer…but never on a school night. Too many people depend on me to be alert the next day.
For me, the calendar means nothing. When March arrives, spring is officially here. I pray no harm comes our way in the form of tornados and floods, but a wicked good thunderstorm spurs the imagination. I’m an English major, after all. When I think of writing and thunderstorms, I think of Poe and Shelley, two notable Romantics, American and European respectively.
According to written accounts, it was during a dark stormy night that Lord Byron challenged his friends to come up with their most horrific ghost stories. Some scholars claim the modern-day Prometheus was born from Mary Shelly’s unconscious emotions. Others point to a myriad of themes, stirred within the writer’s psyche: alienation, family, even the philosophy of writing. But whatever the case, the weather and a little prompting by Byron helped Shelley create perhaps the most famous monster of all time.
So rain and storms can be good things.
During this time of year, I like to think of a spring storm kind of like nature’s own way of house cleaning. The wind stirs up the debris, and the rain washes away winter’s remains, leaving the outdoors squeaky clean for all the buds and blossoms to show themselves.
A spring storm can clear the mind too. Have you ever drifted off under a metal roof during rain storm? Umm nice. The rhythm of the rain drops washes away the tension and stress.
I really have no purpose, no profound words, to share in today’s post—just that I’m suffering from a bit of spring fever. I’m ready for the sunshine to elevate my moods and the warm nights to inspire my imagination. I need a timpani-like thunderstorm to scare away those things that are holding me back.
Any day now three or four hundred students will disappear from our school. They call it Senior Skip Day—certainly not legitimate, mind you, but it coincides with spring—and spring fever.
Maybe that’s what I need. A skip day. I’ve got a personal day coming. I’ll have to take it when everyone, including me, is well so that I can enjoy it.
If my “skip day” is to cure my spring fever, my day has to be spontaneous, nothing planned. I’ll just slip on an old t-shirt and flip flops and cruise down the road to a little town, maybe stop in a café, do a little people watching, a little day dreaming. Maybe I’ll bring my camera and snap a few shots of the rolling countryside, or I could bring my lap top and find a coffee shop and write.
Mark Twain said it best: “It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want – oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!”