I have been reminding my daughter that equinox (and the equinox fairies) will be here Monday. The first day of spring, I whisper, as hungry for dirt and sweetness and possibilities as she has been. Today we went out into a bleak 21-degree morning to blow bubbles in the driveway. The liquid was literally freezing as it dripped down the bottle. We watched the bubbles trail off into a dull sky.
Our seedlings stretch hopefully toward the grow lamps suspended over the kitchen table. The cat is constantly trampling the shallots. In a few months sun, rain, and soil will have coaxed the tiny kale sprouts into hardy monsters we can barely kept up with. Yet, here we are in March pushing our luck with grow lamps while the wood stove is still running.
My daughter is sculpting a tiny beret for her stuffed calico cat toy. When he (she?) wears it, Sophia scolds "A bas!” (“get down” in French) and dutifully the cat leaps off the couch. She has been a prolific artist in the past few months, pumping out work that I tuck into an already overstuffed portfolio. All drawings of cats- rainbow cats, kittens riding on their mothers’ back, cats named “Rocco”, ”Brown Sleek”, and “Vimo”. This feline army overtakes the table and refrigerator. She refuses my offers of Storytime at the library or lunch downtown. These cats are all she wants.
I am thinking of the day that we walk down Loomis Street and pause under every flowering tree. I reach up to grasp a branch and shake hard. White and pink petals shower over her as she looks up. “Snow!” I always shout.
Hmmm…snow. Happy Equinox.