Something was pressing against my ribs. The pressure was not taking my breath, but threat- ening to, and I knew if I let it, if I gave in to it, it would take over... Just slightly at first, like a bully at school that teases you with a tap.
I could feel the quiver in my lip, sending mes- sages to my eyes - “You’re full! You’re full! Let it out.” And as certain as my lips were, the lump in my throat, the pressure in my chest, all agreed, and I began to cry. I knew each year we would say goodbye to winter. We would fluff up our wings and prepare ourselves for the song... The sweet song of spring. But it felt good to weep for it. Weep for the change. The transition. Weep for knowing we had lost another year, and weep out of pure joy for the possibility that these new skies held. Each year, I would tell you, “But, I’m not sad...it’s just so much inside, this love...”
“So it’s good then? You want to do it again? Feel it again? “
Thinking of what it would be like not to have this, what some might call pain, “Oh, yes,” she said. “I thank God that winter can move me as much as spring. I thank God that I can miss the seasons as they change and celebrate the new ones as they come. I thank God that I can love you this much.”
The tears smiled in both of their eyes now, welcoming the buds beneath them.