"Quiet Night of Quiet Stars"

I love this song title, and the text is very nice, as well. Today, alas, was not the day to sing something so low in my range, and it just wasn't working. I am very much missing the lush songs, the songs that are all about singing them, rich and full, the songs that fall more gracefully in my range. Come to me, O come to me, song of lush fullness. . .

A few years ago something very troubling, very world-shaking for me, happened in the spring. It spilled unceasingly into summer of that year, and life was very bad for me for a while. And then things got better, suddenly and then slowly and quite steadily. I never gained back all the weight I lost, but that was really an ok souvenir, as things go. From great pain came good lessons, and although I regret the method, the growth has made my life more rich and full and solid.

But in the spring, two years ago, last year, and now again this year, I get a bit antsy. It doesn't take a whole lot to bring out my insecurities. That first spring afterwards, I was expecting it to some degree; I am very conscious of the wheel of the year, its turn into spring made me feel as if the muddy ground was quicksand. But last year it caught me by surprise: I noticed myself acting strangely uncertain long before I realized what the driving force behind it was. This year I'm trying to be prepared, ready for the unbalanced state. I'm not sure, though, if this will make me, in turn, overly sensitive. I know that time will truly heal this wound, and that it already has healed it to a large extent.

I think I'd rather be on guard than caught unaware. If this time from April through August is a bit fraught, again, maybe next year it will only go through June, maybe the anniversary-effect will ease. Meanwhile, I am sure there's a lesson in this process, also, though I really look forward to the spring where the sound of spring birds doesn't make me anxious and unsteady.