spring is the return of birds that went away from the dark, chirping welcome. it is the snow my aunt calls “lamb’s manure” for the overcast of a March that wants the golden lion’s glow; this month arrived lame, will go out fierce. spring is upheaval after complacency, green shoots poking through the wet, brave as revolutionaries. bold buds unbound of doldrums, dauntless. spring is color coming back, fresh landscape an invitation. each new day asking, asking: how shall you grow now, what beauty each brings, and from this dark winter, where we will build anew

“aren’t you scared?” they asked and asked when I got in the car. I couldn’t wait any longer for a partner. I had to do a thing that yeah, I hadn’t wanted to do alone. I needed to finally explore my ridiculous home country. most of the things about which folks worry are crimes of opportunity. “so don’t look like one,” said my sibling, gifting me a stiffly new, empty leather knife holster. what would I do with the big hunting blade that fit into it anyway? I had several smaller knives for tools. another friend gifted me an actual dagger. that one I kept sharp, at the head of my bed near the bear spray and taser, both also gifts; the holster stayed at my waist. sure I was scared, and I was ready. being afraid is no good reason not to do a thing.

ironically or not, settling down has been much, much scarier. there is a chosen, romantic alone on the road. then there is the small town existence, where no one is new and everyone has families. it’s beautiful being invited into peoples’ homes, getting to casually hang out with babies and kids. I’m at the age where most of my peers are settled in, cozy and content in their rhythms. as the seasons change so do the sports; everyone has their crew for each adventure. there are permutations of friend groups, myriad overlaps throughout the year. this too is beautiful to me, though I stay observing. for now.

last week my coworker loaned me one of our school’s mountain bikes. two days later I dragged myself to the desert to ride in Sand Canyon, alone. much like when I moved into the car, I prepared by carrying tools I’d been given: water bladder, backpack, mini first aid kit (complete with flint), and knife. I did some research and chose a short path. it was terrifying. riding alone, encountering hikers, that’s enough. over rocks, roots, sand. slickrock is fucking fun, and then I lose the cairns and have to ride extra ups and downs. panting. Ute Mountain was in full view almost the entire time, along with eons of colored sandstones in mesas, cuestas, towers. and some springtime greens. if I passed any ruins I missed them entirely. I covered four adrenaline-fueled and somehow slow miles, in an hour. I was wrecked. And smiling as I tucked the bike into my car, where my bed once lay.