Spring Skies

Spring has a way of returning, whether we are ready or not.

The light comes first. Softer at the beginning, almost polite. Then a little brighter each morning, as if it has something important to say.

Terry would have noticed that right away.

Over the years, he became more sensitive to light. Not just a preference. A full negotiation. I learned to announce my intentions like a careful stage manager.

“Light coming on.”

Pause.

“Okay?”

Sometimes yes. Sometimes no. The sun through the window was often too much, landing exactly where he sat, as if it had chosen him on purpose. And yet, take that same man outside, under an open sky, and he would sit there happily, soaking it in.

“Getting my vitamin D,” he would say, like it was his daily assignment.

And I would nod, as if we were both very serious about it.

In the earlier years, spring meant projects. Real ones. Paint on our hands, ladders slightly uneven, plans that sounded simple until they were not. Door frames, windows, planters that may or may not have been level.

We were optimistic.

We were probably a little unrealistic.

We had a lot of fun.

Later, things slowed. Not all at once. Just enough that I started going outside on my own more often. I would take pictures of the sky, little recordings of the sunrise or those clouds that look like they have something to say but never quite say it.

Then I would bring them back inside.

“Look at this,” I’d tell him.

And he would.

He really would.

That part mattered.

This morning, I went out again. Same sky. Same habit. I recorded the light coming up, quiet and steady over the horizon. It felt familiar, like continuing a conversation we had already started years ago.

Only now, I look up a little longer.

“Hello, Honey,” I said.

Out loud.

Just in case.

I like to think he can see it from wherever he is. Maybe he has found the perfect spot. Not too bright. Just enough light. A good balance, finally.

And if he is up there, somewhere above these spring skies, then I suppose I am doing exactly what we always did.

Noticing.

Sharing.

Keeping him in the loop.

It is not such a stretch, is it?