The Slow Spring Thaw

In agonizingly slow days, Winter’s cold is loosening its grip.  My neighbor’s south-facing front yard has a line of brave daffodils and tulips, while my own blooms are taking their time.  Spring seems to be in sight, though its warmth is so-far elusive.  I long for warmth and sunlight and find myself looking at pictures from last April to remind myself that blooms may not be here until mid-month.  And then I find myself in front of a calendar, silently counting the days, knowing that blooms will arrive on their own time.

Winter rolls in a slowly as well.  I’ve spent many a November day ready to wear a thick cardigan sweater only to find that it’s still too warm for that choice.  But warm days in the late Fall feel like stolen pleasures as the world sinks into Winter’s starkness.  After the first bunch of Fall color has fallen from the trees, crunchy dry leaves remain on many trees, waiting for cold winds of Winter to shake them loose.  As we wait for the first snow, I contemplate the cozy and homey days to come.

By April, the leaves are long-past gone and empty tree branches seem stark and miserly in the cold.  I know that there are tight buds waiting the burst open; I know they won’t be rushed.  And yet I’m weary of the chill and want to hurry them into being.  I swap out my Winter wools and corduroys for Spring linen and cotton well before the temperatures warrant such things.  I joke that my pride and willpower will keep me warm.  

To ease my impatience, I buy $6 worth of tulips from the grocery store.  I cheer on the chirping birds as I drink warm coffee in the cold kitchen and watch the sun rise in the eastern dawn.  Last weekend, I put out my spinning bunny sculpture.  Eventually, this corner along the fence will be the land of my fairy garden.  For now, the bunny spins around and around, looking in vane for Spring.  I remind myself that Mother Nature has her own stately time table.  

But it’s clear that I don’t quite believe it.