Spring has taken hold. It is already 61°. Outside my window, I can see the blue sky, the clouds and that beautiful sun. The air is still. I can hear the birds and their songs. My house is quiet. The dogs are napping. Nala is on the couch, and Henry is on my bed. I found a couple of branches in the living room. Last night Nala was on the couch chewing on a big pine cone. She was not pleased when I took it away, but she’ll forget soon enough.

The spring weather has changed my mood. I’ve stopped dragging my feet. I’m off the couch. I am getting chores done, stuff I’ve ignored for a while. Yesterday I picked up my laundry. Today I’ll put it away. I’m going to get my dump permit. There are bags of trash sitting on the deck and in the front. My car is filled with boxes and bags of newspapers. I’ll get rid of them today and starting tomorrow I’ll do a daily dump run. I’m also going to get those pansies.

Where I lived when I was a growing up was in what we called the project. It had duplexes on the hill and around the small rotary. Every house had kids, some older than I was but more younger. We used to roller skate on the sidewalks and on the always empty parking area at the top of the hill. We rode bikes down the hill. It was where I perfected biking with no hands. In winter, the hill was perfect for sledding. The swamp in the woods was where we often ice skated. I remember there were small channels of water leading to the big part of the swamp. When the water froze, we could follow the channels through the woods. What I remember is how clear the water was. I could see grass and small plants under the ice. The field below the houses was for summer, for grasshopper and firefly hunting, catch and release. The swamp was on the other side of it. Blueberry bushes were along one side the field. We’d pick them, not to save but to eat. I always thought the swamp, the field and the trees were magical.

Already I have had my uke practice, my lesson and one concert this week. The music book for the month is The Beatles. The concerts are fun to play.

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.