It's the first day of Spring and although I enjoyed this winter quite a bit, I'm not sorry to see it go. Longer days, hints of green poking up through brown leftover ick and "come hither" bird songs make it seem like just one more day and it'll really happen. Spring will be sprung: lilacs will bloom heavy and fragrant, their branches will bend down toward the ground when rains come and soak the delicate petals. Daffodils will nod cheerfully on hillsides that just yesterday seemed covered forever in snow, ice, sand and salt. My eyes will be astonished that they forgot, once again, what green really looks like. This is what hope looks like in New England at the end of March:
This glacier is mostly fallout from the upstairs roof. It's a deep, solid, impenetrable fortress of winter. I'm going to mark down the date it's finally all melted. Anyone wanna put in a bet?
Now there's some serious hope.
Lilacs. It'll still be another, oh....month and a half until these buds do their beautiful thing.
But first, we must be patient through the fifth and most unwelcome season:
Unfortunately, the town "fixed" this road since I was on it yesterday so my picture doesn't do full justice to how bad it was. Yesterday it was like something college girls would use for a mud wrestling match in a bad Revenge of the Nerds kind of movie. The mud and ruts were so deep and sloppy that it was nearly impassable. I guess a milk truck got stuck a little further down the road earlier this week.
I know that most of you who bother to look at my blog live in New England or at least the Northeast. You're probably nodding your heads and agreeing with me that this is, indeed, what hope looks like on the first day of Spring in New England. I'm not sure someone from away would see it the same.
Feeling hopeful is grand.