On the first day of spring, I stood at our back door and noted the curtain of fabric bulging from the wall-mounted coat rack in our kitchen. This solid fortress of extra clothing exposed winter’s fierce and unpredictable temperament.
The wall was overflowing with coats for every option of weather, for each member of our family. It held my black down coat for the coldest days, Jamie’s rain jacket, a hooded winter coat for both boys, a fleece jacket for me, a fleece jacket for Jamie, Jackson’s hunter green hoodie, a lightweight coat for Parker, and quite a few more. So many, many coats.
My eyes had grown tired of looking upon this jumbled mess, and I decided the excess of scarves and hats and coats was no longer needed. After all, spring had officially arrived.
I lifted each winter coat off its metal hanger and draped it over my left forearm, where the heaping stack grew and grew and grew. Then I delivered them to a bedroom closet for safekeeping until next winter.
When I returned to the kitchen I glanced in the corner and noticed the newfound space unveiled. The hangers were no longer overburdened with layers of fabric. A lightness had returned and I sensed the space could once again breathe easy.
I had felt the same lightness earlier that morning when I awoke to the sound of little boys squealing with laughter. The feeling persisted as Parker chased rowdy birds and squirrels on the front lawn before preschool. No coats were needed as we raced out the door and climbed into our champagne minivan. Jackson pleaded with me to crank up Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling” so that not a soul we passed on the road could possibly doubt all the sunshine in his pocket.
Lightness was riding proudly through the spring air and nestled in the empty spaces around my coat rack. It was pulsing out our van windows and soaring within me. Where had it come from?
In short, everywhere.
It is in the collective blooms of lavender phlox and in three-year-olds who utter “Mama” every sixth word they speak. It is there as we eat peanut butter sandwiches on the front porch and in the vibrant trills and calls of birds just before daybreak. It is in music and motion and the sun as it warms my aging skin. It is there when I write, when I give a voice to my own truths. It is there as our heaviest coats fall away, as our shoulders and our hearts are set free from the weight they have carried.
Farewell long winter!
Farewell heavy, heavy coats!
Spring is calling us forth.