Two days ago I left the house in only my spring raincoat. Yesterday I walked around the pond in my winter parka and neck warmer pulled up to the tip of my nose.
With the dog in toe, I set out on a frigid spring walk in February. I found myself alternating between striding steadily atop patches of brownish green grass and creeping over sheets of white ice--the kind that melts and then refreezes when it's not quite time for the ultimate BIG thaw. Upon the grass, I wove to avoid dog and goose refuse. These remnants of the previous fall have now been exposed.
I teeter between longing for the pure snow of winter to remain, covering all that we'd rather not see, and reaching for the energy, warmth, and growth that spring brings.
