Tired of the push and pull that has been this spring – never deciding whether it wants to snow or burn up – I sink to the floor, lean back against the bed, and silently wait for the summer. A shirt of lilac lace holds my hand – the jeweled necklace my leash. The window air-conditioning unit rumbles and moans – on its last legs, but I’ll try to get one or two more summer seasons out of it. This attic room reminds me of summer. The desk needs to be cleaned off and de-cluttered. I should probably vacuum too, instead of just waiting for the next set of guests to force the matter.
The fiftieth spring of a man’s life should be something special.
I find every spring a little special.
