Every spark of friendship and love will die without a home.

People I love are in California, Arizona, and Florida, and it pains me to think that they don't get the exquisite Midwestern pleasure of the coming of spring. Will it never come?! It arrives! It leaves again! Today, in an official HR + Training capacity, I got to visit Kilbourn Park. Shame on me that I have not been there before, it being so close to my home and all. There is an organic green house with one specifically magical gardenia that loved me. The field house is like every elementary school I ever attended--floors that have been lacquered for one hundred years, wide hallways, wood and linoleum in a brick castle of immense solidity. It's a pocket-sized park, hemmed in by train tracks, the perfect size for a rust belt girl that is deeply fearful of the chaos and mystery of unbridled nature.

After the sunshine and children frolicking and gardenias, the drive to work from the northwest side to the straight up north side was a killer; this always happens in spring. Buildings on the north west side are low and tan and near to the street, and I think of Douglas Avenue and Central Avenue and all my twenty-nine springs. Plus I was listening to Neon Bible and nearly weeping, which ups the sentimentality to Lifetime Movie Special levels; I could have lifted my Cabrio off the street and flown to work with all the love and pain in me, but it seemed a better idea to keep driving and get to work and review these resumes! Do the Job and get home and find someone to ride bikes to Kilbourn Park with me. Carry love and loss around in me like everyone else. Spring, I want you to stay with me, but if you go, I will understand.