The Mole had been working very hard all the morning, spring-cleaning his little home…. till he had dust in his throat and eyes, and splashes of whitewash all over his black fur, and an aching back and weary arms. Spring was moving in the air above and in the earth below and around him, penetrating even his dark and lowly little house with its spirit of divine discontent and longing. It was small wonder, then, that he suddenly flung down his brush on the floor, said ‘Bother!’ and ‘O blow!’ and also ‘Hang spring-cleaning!’ and bolted out of the house without even waiting to put on his coat.–The Wind in the Willows, by Kenneth Grahame
Oh, Mole! I’m tempted to bolt along with you.
All winter long, I’ve been tied to a grueling to-do list. “Taxes” is actually one of the more agreeable items on it, which speaks volumes. Meanwhile our whole family’s been reeling from one preschool virus to another, and we’ve had some more serious worries, too. Considering the devastation so many people are suffering right now, I know I shouldn’t complain. But this winter’s been enough to turn me a pale shade of blue.
A fine spring day is a help, though, and we’re getting more and more of those this month. Our town is awash in crocuses and daffodils, and even a few tulips are showing their colors. When I clear away the breakfast table, the blackbirds in the garden make me laugh with their worm-pulling antics.
I wish, like Mole, I could just say “Hang spring-cleaning!” and forget about the chores that are waiting for me. But since I can’t, I’m at least trying to make time to really look at those daffodils and blackbirds, and to savor whatever good moments come. And I’m writing in the cracks and the corners, wherever and whenever I find space.
I’m glad now that I planted all those bulbs last fall…