Must have been the pollen in my eyes

I walk out of the house, leaving Ada elbow deep in puzzle pieces and half learned nursery rhymes. I get into the car after admiring our newly tilled garden. There is a blast of Neko Case from the cd player, and I leave the disk in even though I am kind of a news junkie.

I back the car out of the driveway and head down the street, listening to Neko and feeling weirdly elated. I drive along 12th, where all the cherry trees are in bloom, and suddenly the size of my heart triples. The image is worn, but apt.

I turn onto Powell, and over the Ross Island Bridge the sun comes out. Again, I am feeling the particular joy of early spring. I've found one of those moments of where the world is so perfect, and here I am in it. And, well, I'm driving, so the moment doesn't stop me in my tracks, but it feels like that.

Heading up the hill, listening to Neko and singing, I start crying, sure that the drivers of the jeep from Minnesota and the biodiesel Volvo wonder about the tears streaming down my cheeks while I belt out a tune they can't hear.

And on to Salem.