Last hurrah of March

Dragon Mood? -- remembering

Scootching towards mid-morning, today is looking to be such a beautiful day, I put on my gym shoes and hit the sidewalks for a walk around the neighborhood.

The sky is the bluest of blues. Trees are still bare so you can see their every branch and bone. A few clumps of leaves hang on, curled and brown, hardy survivors of winter winds. Hard to see but not difficult to hear are all the birds, singing their little birdy hearts out, celebrating the return of sunshine and warmer temperatures. Hearing their songs reminds me of how wonderful it is to be alive. I remind myself, don't take it for granted, Mary. Be grateful and give thanks.

I focus on feeling as much as I can, opening my sensory windows and letting it all flow in. The air is cool, but not cold. My top and sweatshirt are just the right warmth. I focus on tightening my tummy muscles, my core muscles and aligning my spine. I straighten my posture as I walk. Hmm, that actually seems to help.

This all feels so natural, so familiar. I've walked these blocks so many times before. My ever-present companion, Cisco, is the only missing part of this picture. I imagine her out in front of me, going this way, then that, sniffing, pausing to sniff more intently heaven only knows what. In my arm muscles, I actually feel her leash tugging me here, now there. Oh, it's surreal at how very real it feels.

I look at houses as I pass. Usually tidy ones still look tidy in this nether time between winter and spring. Some look a little worse for wear. A house that was foreclosed last fall has new occupants. Their garage door is open and boxes are lined up right to the edge of the opening. Another house, up the street, on the other side, is for sale. I wonder if this is a voluntary, happy-choice sale or a wolves-at-the-door foreclosure sale? I can't help but wonder.

I'm amazed at how quiet and empty the streets are. Is everyone working but me? Are people immune to the beauty of the day, behind doors closed and locked? I wonder.

Then, across the street, I see a man. He's wearing a winter knit hat, a skull cap I think it's called. I glance down, then back at him. He's still watching me. I raise my hand and wave. He waves back. Now I know what it feels like to be on an island, a castaway, feeling too alone. The strange reassurance of seeing another person, though a stranger. What a curious feeling.

I stop and examine some tiny blue flowers sprung up alongside a slab of concrete. They're so dainty and so intensely blue. Are these snowdrops? I don't know if there is such a thing as intensely blue snowdrops. Nevertheless, they are lovely. Their color is such a marked contrast to the brownness and grayness of all the other foliage.

A woman rounds the block corner, coming towards me, walking two dogs. As she approaches, I say hi. She replies and I ask if I may pet her dogs? They are well-mannered dogs, inquisitive and happy to get a head rub. I tell her about Cisco. She offers her sympathy. I wish her a pleasant day and continue walking. I wish I didn't feel so alone and so vulnerable. I have never been in the habit of chatting up strangers before. Why am I doing it now?

I finish my walk, happy that I have stretched my legs, exercised my core muscles, even to the point of preventing a lower backache, the usual outcome of a long walk. I feel a bit winded, which is good. I congratulate myself.

I return to my laptop, ready to begin working on finding jobs and then it hits me. Today is an anniversary. Yup, it sure is. A year ago, about the same time as my mid-morning walk, I got called into a conference room, told that my job was being eliminated, told that it had nothing to do with my performance, but yes, you are being laid off.

I am thankful. I am thankful for today's March 31st compared to last year's March 31st. I am so thankful to be here and not there.