Waxing and waning.

It is nearly spring. I can feel the change coming. Suddenly I am productive; making lists, running errands and catching up on neglected correspondence. In the spring, my ever-present itch to make something, to create, to get my hands dirty, reaches a state of intense urgency. I draw. I write new songs. I buy new houseplants. I start blogs. Eventually, summer comes, and fades into autumn. The coming of winter signals a different kind of change in me. I grow embarrassed of my springtime exuberance. I brace myself for the cold and dark of winter. I tear up drawings. I stop performing certain songs. I delete blogs.

In his photo book "Spring," Bart Thrall discusses the absence of this sort of change for people living in Los Angeles. In the ever-mild climate of Southern California, there is no period of hibernation and rest, no period of reawakening and newness. Thrall says, "the culture gets kind of frazzled. Small mistakes are knit into the fabric of society." Last week, I texted a friend in Los Angeles that the return of the sun always makes me feel like I've been dead for months, and that I'm finally alive again. He said he doesn't know the feeling.

My two-year-old niece lives in Prescott, Arizona. For Christmas, I got her a green frog umbrella. My sister told me it has rained one day since Christmas. On that day, my niece eagerly grabbed her umbrella and carried it around in the rain for hours. She woke up the next day with a cold.

So here's to springtime and new blogs. Enjoy it while it lasts. Come October, I can't promise it will still be up here. Unless, of course, I move to Los Angeles.