They arrived with the spring winds, whirling, spinning, descending, like a horde of over-ambitious Mary Poppins. As soon as they alighted delicately on the ground, the wind swept them across the pavement, draped them over cars, sprinkled them generously over the deck furniture, and gathered them in the eaves. Yellow sinuous harbingers of headaches, sneezes, congestion. During the night they congregated in mounds- lining the walls and sidewalks- no longer individual nannies of spring, they had become numerous Cousin Its lounging around the perimeter of the house, threatening entrance and engulfment. I briefly considered brooming them up, cramming them into trash bags, and just as swiftly dismissed the idea. Lazy? Yes. Do wish I had summoned the resolve to gather the yellow visitors up and dispense with them? I don’t know. Another 24 hours and nocturnal spring showers have reduced them to soggy masses, as if all the Cousin Its had become hairballs in the drain. I am well aware that I have egregiously mixed my metaphors, but in this crazy new world where people celebrate birthdays as a parade of single occupancy vehicles and host cocktails hour through Zoom, I am counting on leniency and mercy. I am also counting on sunshine and two children to clean up what is left of the Mary Poppins/Cousin Its. I believe the Pin Oaks have finished dropping them.
A delicate Tulip tree blossom turns its face up to the sun. Photograph by Renee Griffin.
As I roll into my fourth week of “staying home” I feel slightly guilty about the state of my home. It should be well on its way to squeaky clean. After all- there is no time quite like a pandemic to clean the house. No parties to attend, no fundraisers to organize, no job, not even family birthday gatherings. But a virtual army of sirens is pulling my attention- not the wailing song of emergency vehicles, but an entrancing melody more akin to that which lured Odysseus off his noble route home.
The piles of laundry, mountains of dishes, long lists of tasks to accomplish- these impress me very little. Instead I turn my ears longingly to the sirens’ song- birdsong in the earliest break of day, the soft rustle of leaf debris as the ringneck hurries out of sight, the raspy breath of pencil across paper, the staccato click of the camera shutter, the soothing sound of water rinsing brushes clean. No mop can entice me the way the paintbrush will, no matter how dirty the floor.
These seductive sirens sing from the corners of my tiny world- giving me much to appreciate in these insular days. And when the guilt is loud enough, I will turn to the mountains of dishes, piles of laundry, and army of feral fur bunnies which undoubtedly await.
The sun shines through Bradford Pear trees in Tulsa.
The day has arrived! The day I open my digital window and begin my song- the clatter of keys, the soft scratch of the pen nib against paper, the muffled splash of paint brushes stirring color clouds in water. I knew this day was coming; I have been preparing for it. I just did not foresee the abrupt cessation of public busy-ness that ushered in this day.
Our new reality, each day pregnant with the promise of something dreadful also bears the gift of time: time for family, time for reflection, time to indulge in self-investment. And I am grateful. I do not know how long this golden sunrise-magic will last, so I seize the beauty of inspiration and the love of family with both fists and sing my heart out.
Welcome to Sparrowshine blog- the beginning of a brave new day!
This is an evolution-of-self exposed. As I dabble in line and color, I will share my inspirations and my processes. Ultimately, my hope is that my admiration of the beauty found in the most common of places and creatures will illuminate your soul and lighten your heart as it does mine. If it does, please share with someone.
