I found myself awash with optimism when I see spring approach. Looking past the yellow menace. I see the green comeback to the deciduous plants. I am fond of the flowers and their colors. At a previous place of employment, I used to monitor honey bees frolicking amongst a dogwood tree. This was true, even in the backdrop of a dying mall, a 1970’s industrial hellscape, or an increasingly graying visage in somewhat reflective glass.
Spring is a great thing. The sun, in spite of the horrific storms that kill people, gives us pleasant temperatures. People find a reason to not be horrifically pale and get a shade darker the natural way, (yes, the tanning bed isn’t the gift that you think it is and the sun has been).
I didn’t write this article to sing the romantic praise of spring but to lament that I notice something lost when the season changes. I find that we a “man” short, or missing something else. Something slipped, something disappeared.
I often don’t notice what left. I find out when the Thompsonesque rolls back. In this instance, spring brought the truth that two people exited. I shouldn’t have been surprised. One person had slowly showed that their monumental shit show was not improving, giving in further to the combined forces of ego, shitty culture, and mental illness. The other person being someone that refused to continue on a healthy path they had been on, marching toward a mental brick wall within their visibility. (Cutting off others in a cult like fit).
I took this spring to count the seeds and not the left behind silage. We must grow and move on. My feet will hit the pavement and make do. I will celebrate with what I have. I encourage you to hear the birds song and the silence of absence.