Hope in the Springtime of the Mind

"Toby, I'm glad you are in from the field today. I really, really need a warm, furry friend."

"Why? What's happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing is the best word I can find for it."

"Is it the Blahs?"

"Sort of...mmm...a little different."

"Hmmm. Sounds serious." He was watching the big white rooster minding hens nearby. Then, he said, "Let's go up and sit on the steps."

We climbed up the porch steps and sat down together. All three dogs were stretched out below us on the grass in the sunshine. It was peaceful.

"What's going on?" he asked.

"I can't shake off some sort of melancholy hanging around for days."

"Explain melancholy."

"Kind of like a damp dishrag. Low energy. Low spirit. I'd cry, but no tears. Lonely."

Toby sat quietly for a while. Then, he said, "When I get lonely there are always the dogs. They are 99 and 44 one-hundredths percent happy even though they get worked up now and then with something the neighbors are doing. Even so, they're fun to watch tearing up and down the fence line barking their heads off."

"Say, I didn't know you get lonely!"

"Oh yeah. It happens," he said, "even though my DNA has a 'loner' gene. So, what do you do when you get lonely?"

"Mope."

"What else?"

"Nothing."

"Ugh. It's a good thing you're telling me about this. You are badly in need of a Springtime of the mind. How will you get there? 

"Umm. Sitting here talking with you feels pretty good."

"What about some of your other fave things to do? Art, music, writing, reading, walks..."

"Well, they're all there still, but there's this heavy greyness. Everything is different now--for everyone. Uncertainties lie like crossties on a transcontinental railroad. "

"Do you think maybe it's okay to just feel down sometimes?"

"You know, you might be onto something. All that self-help stuff going on makes me think there's something wrong with me if I'm blue. Like there's some special key to unlock the door to bright happiness that I need on my keychain and I keep not noticing the locksmith shop across the road. Kinda silly,"

He rubbed his head on my arm.

It felt good to say: "I'm really as okay as I can be today. I've been blue before and it will change in its own time."

"Just like Springtime," he said.

"Sitting here, talking to you, I'm seeing color definition emerge from the greyness."

Was it because of what he said or asked? Maybe, but I think it was mostly because he was sitting there by me; for a little moment in time he and I were 'we'. And, that was good.

*

The Arts Desk:

From Tucson, Paula sent her beautiful rendering of the southwest's springtime bounty of Desert Willow seedpods...