It’s one of those days that teases me with spring-like weather. The air is milder, and it smells different, letting off wafts of wet earth. Birds were singing this morning, louder and stronger than I have heard them for months now. I look at tree branches and notice that potential life is there, waiting for spring to blossom into flowers or leaves. It’s so warm that I half expect to see crocuses erupting out of the snow.
A few warm days this week have finally reduced the piles of snow: I can see grass in my back yard.
The gargoyles are released from their snowy prison.
And, well, melting snow has also revealed that last fall’s pumpkin needs desperately to be gotten rid of. (Gross, isn’t it?)
But, indeed, it’s all just a tantalizing taste of what’s yet to come. I tend to savor these days. In New England, one never knows what spring will be like. Some years it’s lovely and lingers. Other years, it stays cold and grey through April or May, and then shoots directly into heat and humidity. Fall we can rely on, but not spring.
Still, there’s something magical about a day like today. I remember loving these days, these moments of smelling and feeling potential life and warmth, even when I was a kid. Then, I thought of forests and fairies and adventure. Heck, maybe I still do. But now my forest is the tree out my window, my fairy is the twirling child in my kitchen, and my adventure is trying to live like I mean it.
How do these peeks of spring affect you?