The dawn of April invited along the true birth of spring. Gone already are the lion days of March, clinging with the final, bony fingers of winter to the bitter chill of the clouded air. For two blissful days now, I have enjoyed the spreading of a thin blanket over grass, newly green, only recently recovering from the harsh farewells of the previous season. My chubby-thighed son sitting his plump, diapered bottom atop the blanket and grasping greedily for the final thin blades of a dying yellow.
Micaiah, too, is eager for this new season of warmth and brilliant rays of sunlight. Days lie ahead of running in the yard, chasing iridescent, quickly dissipating bubbles as they dance along the airy afternoon. She spreads her wings, imagination soaring as she tweets her beautiful bird-song. Quickly changing her mind, her legs begin a gallop; her mouth opens in a hearty, "Yee-haw!"
And I, I lay on my back, soaking in the heat of the dying sun as twilight gleams. My son, still resting on the bright green blanket, pounds on my chest - reminiscent of an unnecessary performance of CPR.
Yes, son, I feel it - in this moment, I am truly alive.