The Right of Spring

(Editor’s Note: The vibrant and talented Cinelli offers words on the buoyancy of spring.)

The older I get, the more important the simple things in life become. Like, it’s a good day when I can climb the stairs to our second story bedroom in under half a minute and it’s a real victory when I remember what day it is. For example: today is Tuesday the 14th of April and not only did I remember it but I’m content because it falls at the apex of spring. It’s going to be a great day for anyone who enjoys simple things Like spring.

It depends on the weather. In this universe, everyone is concerned with weather. Some like sun, others rain, and I know a few skiers who adore snow. I am partial to total weather patterns. Sun part of the time, rain occasionally, a smattering of fog on crisp fall mornings and short patches of snow that produce a white crown to the distant mountains.

I do have a personal attachment to one aspect of the outdoor environment which fills my inner self with joy. What I look for to satisfy the weather atoms that circulate inside my brain is a perfect spring day. Unfortunately, April 14 isn’t that perfect day, yet. A little too gray and a little too cold, but I haven’t given up. Occasionally the sun bursts through the haze and sends its rays into the corners of the yard where leaves are straining to grow beyond their small beginnings and buds are swelling in preparation for birth.

I believe that spring owes me a day or two that fall into the category of so gentle, so sweet, so inviting that only a hardened criminal intent on hatching up schemes to rob us of our hard won two cents hidden in a bottom drawer would consider staying inside the house. When the world is blessed with a perfect spring day there is absolutely nothing, and I do mean nothing, that can match it. Oh yes, a cool margarita on a warm summer evening, sipped while enjoying the company of good friends watching a glowing sunset, is close.

Actually, I recant. The perfect day is without parallel. This forever harrowing world doesn’t offer a lot that is perfect. Consider the evening news. “Let’s see what happened today,” the man of the house says as the hour comes up to eleven p.m. “I need to know what’s going on in this town.” “Welllll,” I respond, “okay.” Three murders and a car chase later, I declare a determination to go to bed. This is news? This is reality beyond reality. Truly, not what I seek.

I need the perfect spring day to bring my soul back to normal and to reassure myself that even in the midst of chaos there is still a place for tranquility. This is my right. I’m not sure what passes for perfection in other areas of our great blue orb, but my goal is not to understand how others look at total satisfaction but to revel in the moments that are my absolute ideal. I demand the seconds that exist in spring when everything is in an arena of what life should be.

This is my right of spring.

I can appreciate the joys of a fireplace and hot cider on a cold winter day, and the healing balm of a fall rain and lolling on the pristine beaches of L.A. in the midst of a summer heat wave, but I declare my right of spring to have days that lure one outside to prune a few bushes, pull a few weeds and smell the rich soil as it is turned in my hands. I doubt I could pass a law that would make shimmering spring days a legal obligation in the hands of the weather producers but if I could that would be my goal. Not too many beautiful days, mind you. Just enough. They need to be rare to be appreciated

So if one of those unique moments arrive when all seems to be in perfect harmony and the earth is calling your name, go outside, pick a flower, take a walk, say hello to a neighbor, feel the sun in your face and remember that there are reasons to continue having the belief that this mess of a world we live in has enough in it to make it all worthwhile.

(jomtz@charter.net)