I know I've been quiet lately, but spring is at once very busy and full of reflection time.  You see, I get all tangled up about spring.  During the Vermont winter, the southerner in me longs for the warm seasons.  I picture the garden and dinners al fresco, white wine with ice cubes, babies toddling nude in the grass.  But spring also stirs up a little melancholy.

Three years ago, in May, we lost the Dogtor's mother (above, left), just as I gave birth to our first daughter.  This spring we lost Mom Mom, the Dogtor's grandmother (above right).  Both women were inspirations for me, and I find myself wanting to share the good stuff with them - the babies, the writing, the Dogtor in his prime.

We put Captain Nemo, our first dog, down in April.  One of my friends took her own life two weeks ago.   I have always given birth in spring, and the weather, the scent in the air, makes me restless as I remember the sleepless nights, the profound changes I've come around to as the Vermont winter fades.

There are gardens to put in, final papers to grade.  Bebe Z is walking.  I sold my novel to Scribner.  When I run, often at twilight, I am bowled over by Vermont's natural beauty, the vernal pools teeming with peepers and red-winged black birds.  There is an embarrassment of good stuff in my life right now, but that doesn't keep me from getting a knot in my throat when I'm out on the porch alone, sun setting.  

Thinking time is writing time.