I want to jump for joy. It is 64°. It is a lovely spring day, the sort we’ve all been craving. The sky is so blue it almost defies description. The air is still. I was on the deck for a while watching the dogs romp through the backyard. That was when I noticed Nala’s latest trash run. She took a bag of Coke cans from under the deck. The cans are all over the yard. I’m going to have to trash pick. I also noticed another bag’s been emptied. That one had common trash. Gee, I wonder who opened that bag.

I think spring is my favorite season. When I was a kid, I loved the morning air. It still held a hint of the chill of late winter, but the day warmed quickly. The air smelled sweet. I watched the progress of the buds on the trees over the sidewalk on my walk to school. I loved the colors of spring, the bright flowers in the front gardens, the dafs and the hyacinths. I could see the yellow buds of the forsythia trees. I was wearing spring, a jacket with no layers. Spring is hopeful.

My bike came out of the cellar, a spring ritual. I rode it in the afternoons. I sometimes went to the white store for my mother, usually for bread. I rode by the golf courses and the stores uptown. I went to the library. Spring gave me a sense of freedom after a cold, snowy winter. We stayed out longer in the afternoons. The street lights came on later. The sun was taking over.

Ghana didn’t have spring, but it had the rainy season. The first rains made rivulets on the packed, dry soil, but soon enough the soil softened. The fields were sown and small green shoots appeared. I was as taken with the rain as I was of spring. It rained almost every day. I didn’t have a raincoat or an umbrella. I got wet. I didn’t mind. Soon enough all the fields were alive. The crops were so tall you couldn’t see between them.. All you could see was the road bordered by the tall millet grasses.

The school garden was tended by Enzo. The garden was beautiful, lush and green. He used to come and chat with me. He spoke pidgin English, but I pretty much understood him. One time he complained, “Am I a garden boy or a gate boy?” That was when the back gate right by my house was locked. I just listened. I gave him seeds. He grew vegetables. I remember when he grew green peppers. They were not popular. They were not hot. My friends and I bought them all.

Every morning when I go get the paper in the front yard I stop to look at the flowers. They are their most beautiful now, tall and colorful. They make me feel a bit giddy.

Today is cloudy. It will be in the low 50’s. I’ll take it despite the wind. I didn’t list any chores or errands for today. As always, there are things I could do and places I could go, but I’ll just wing it.

When I woke up, I didn’t open my eyes right away. I could feel breathing on my face and a paw was pushing at me. I begrudgingly opened my eyes, Nala’s eyes were just inches away from mine. When she realized I was awake, she began jumping on the bed. Henry just stood and watched. I got up.

I try to carry boxes and bags, like I once did. I even used to carry a fifty pound bag of litter from the car to the house. Now I struggle with packages. I can’t seem to convince my head that my body is old, okay, older, a better word, so I keep trying. When I take a filled litter box down the stairs, I go a stair at a time. I stand backwards to the box and hope for the best. I brought a heavy box down today. The box and I made it safely. I added the box to the growing pile of boxes on the deck. They are my targets for later in the week. I just need to get my dump pass.

My father always brought the trash barrels to the sidewalk on trash day. He’d bring in the empty barrels when he got home. When we moved to the cape, my father had to go to the dump with his trash. He never minded. He loved the dump. He loved the high piles of trash and the raucous seagulls circling the piles. He’d go on Sunday. He always invited me. Sometimes I went. When I was in college and a friend came home with me for the weekend, my friend was invited to go with my father. It was almost a command performance.

I’m in the mood for chocolate, maybe I’ll make some brownies.