There is no drum. There are wind chimes and birds singing the last swan dives, the free fall into spring, where each day it gets warmer, brighter, and the earth becomes more alive.
Somewhere there are bugs nestled into caves waiting for their epic return, but for now, we can leave the doors & windows open. Let the sunlight in. Let in the air. Let it fill your lungs. Let the breeze touch your skin. Although there is still a chill lingering on the wind, we crave the spaces in between.
We will thaw into another spring. The stories we tell echoed in remembrance of last spring, last summer--the chlorinated blue waters, the heat, the noise of a city full of people drawn to the grace of the sun. We all worship. We will write it all again.