|Feb. 16, 2016|
Last week my sons and I slipped on frozen sidewalks as we headed to school. This week the temperature climbed to the 60s, a sudden warmth so magical you could hear it -- as icicles dripped and rooftops purged their burdens of snow down giggling rainspouts.
The laughter called me outside. I've had rather a blue season, whether it was affected by winter or not I can't say, but a hard season nonetheless. This first spring day woke my soul like a buried seed warmed sufficiently to want to reach for the light. I'm ready to make a change.
I went for a walk and met an older woman laboring to free a large branch downed in winter's first harsh storm. She was delighted when together we pulled it from its snowbank trap.
The sun and blue skies urged me to my garden beds, which have been hidden beneath white for the last two months. Yet there they were, a few spots of deeper, drifted snow here and there, but the plot otherwise warm and spongy-brown. I turned over a quick row and sprinkled some spinach seeds. I hoped to find a ladybug, and lo and behold, I did! I spent several satisfying minutes watching it climb over snow. I've never seen that combination. Or have I just never wanted to before? It was marvelous.
When spring emerges from winter's icy hold so quickly it's like an eager child throwing off the covers and jumping out of bed. That's the first spring day. Then the seasonal shift enters a bit of adolescence and identity crisis, teasing between two extremes. Warm? Cold? Tempestuous? Calm? Right now as I write this, after all, hail and thunder are playing outside. Take shelter, ladybug! Sometimes that first spring day arrives after the calendar definition, sometimes before.
|April 15, 2015.|
Yes, spring is changeable. So am I. Perhaps that's why I'm so eager for it to fully arrive.