Another sunny 40 degree day, in a long string of such days. On every south facing slope the glacial snow banks continue their retreat. The sun eating into them, hour by hour, day by day. Each morning the snow melt forms a stream, gurgling down the street in ever growing width. Each evening the water congeals again, puddling in the low spots, scabbing up into frozen patches of ice to wait out the darkness. Each day a little more earth is revealed along the edges of the roadside. At this rate we may yet see the ground again before April.
Birds are singing in the sun this morning, testing their voices for the season ahead. It’s coming. There can be no more doubt about it. Spring. Oh, winter has not given up yet, and will throw her deepest wettest snows at us this month. But the tide has turned. She is on the defensive now, and these March storms of flakes like sloppy kisses can do nothing to stop the advance of Spring. It is days like this when I think my heart will burst. I want to cry out like the birds and tell the world that we have survived another season.
I’d like to deep sea dive into the sea of memory and bring another story back up to the surface, but not today.
Today is for looking forward, not backwards. Spring is coming. I can feel it.