I have always been affected by weather, particularly by drastic changes in temperature, which can easily occur in Atlanta. When storms approach, I hear the distant thunder in my skull. Lightning snaps and pops inside my stomach.
My moods also seem to rise and fall with the temperature.
I sound rather unsteady, if looking upon myself from satellite view, as you might be. Yet, all of this metaphorical babble is really just to say I've been moody. And it seems fitting since spring is practically upon us. (Actually, it's been in Atlanta since Valentine's Day.)
Spring itself has always been a time of angst. A reminder of high school graduation, of the impending break-up before beach week, of the free-floating time to come when time would enter a vortex. Oh, those summer nights...and days, when walking to the car door could take an hour. Each lifting of the leg, a slow motion shot in your own personal Indie film. When the sweat dripping down your forehead was the only uncomfortable thing in your day.
So, in essence, spring has often been a time of waiting, of being unable to yell "surprise." Stay ducked down behind the couch, it isn't time yet.
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