Rumors of Spring

Now and then, there are balmy, brilliant blue days in March, but mostly, we lurch along between winter and spring, blue skies and grey skies, scudding clouds and no clouds at all. Temperatures are up, down and all over the place, and we (Beau and I) are never sure what to wear when we set out in the morning for our first walk, a light, waterproof jacket one day, a warm parka the next. Two days ago, we went about in light jackets, and this morning we are back to parkas and boots.

Wonder of wonders, a gnarly old willow down by the creek was putting up lovely furry catkins a few days ago and the icicles suspended below cradled tiny branches and fragile scraps of green. The little stream at my feet was running free and singing, its waters dark and glossy and filled with possibility. Willow, song and flow are still percolating in my thoughts this morning, a day or two later.

A hodgepodge of seasonal images and motifs perhaps, but not unusual for my favorite corner in the great wide world, and I am quite all right with it. There is light in dwindling icicles, in thawing streams and fuzzy little willow buds, and perhaps springtime is not far off. Hardy northerners that we are, we cling to the thought and turn our collars up against the icy wind.

On we go, paw in paw, light flickering through the trees, little scraps of green in the landscape around us, soon (hopefully), flocks of returning geese in the sky above. There are balmy days and cold days; sometimes there is rain, and other times there is snow. The slowly awakening world is a symphony written in sound and light, and even our footsteps have a part to play in the performance.

 Happy Saint Patrick's Day!