I swam one lap yesterday in the very cold pool. I think it was up to 63F by the time I got in, and hot and sunny outside. Afterward, I put the bubble-wrap cover on, so that it could hold the warmth of the sun, the heat it stole from my flesh, so it could better integrate my intention to begin swimming for the season. I fix the water in my laser gaze, willing it to heat.
I saw one lizard yesterday, but it was not Orangelina. I sit on the little foot-bridge from time to time, and call her name. I imagine her, half-dreaming, hearing me.
The orange tree began opening its blossoms yesterday, the Pregnant Onion that Gail gave me is blooming, the Desert Willows are pricking out their Spring leaves, and the aloes have fat stalks up tipped with conical flower clusters, still tightly closed. The yard is intoxicating.
I am going slightly mad with Spring Fever, and of course with such intensive bookwork. I’m also moving oddly through time. I was looking for my coffee this morning, having just made a fresh cup, and I found the cup, empty and washed, on the drainboard. I can guess that I am the one who drank it and washed up. But just in case I made another mugful and drank that too.
Or I guess I did. Because it’s gone.