A hard winter, this was. The end of winter is here; spring yawns and awakens.
Starting over means that when I wake up at 5 am, it won’t be dark outside; the sky won’t be the shade of a two day old bruise. Instead, dawn will be straining to break out, streaking candy floss pink and creamy peach across a lavender canvas. If I step outside, I won’t smell fog or frost or chill, rather the blooms of the gardenia bush planted at the bottom of the garden. Spring has its own scents, mysteries. As the day continues, I’ll see trees regaining their colour, as if breaking free of a hard long vigil. Alive again.
I’ll hear spring songs, some cliched, some not. Crickets, sparrows, even the whirring of the hummingbird, like a tiny drum beating fast fast fast. I’ll know winter’s gone, taking her ice crusted cloak along. I’ll see kittens stretching, falling, rolling, not afraid of the once iron earth, now gone soft and loose. There will be minor changes, and major ones. The little things will matter most, of course. It will shine a little, rain a little, blow a little, and stop to have a pleasant breezy chat.
I’ll see all this, and then some.
Because the end just means a new beginning.
I stand here to welcome Spring with open arms.
“In the Spring, I have counted 136 different kinds of weather…” – Mark Twain.