A week ago, I was convinced we wouldn’t see grass until at least April. And now? After a few days of magnificent and unseasonable weather, there’s hardly any snow left in the yard. I drove around this morning in the sunshine and, like most Midwesterners probably did today, pretended it was Spring again. I appreciate the change of seasons, but Winter to Spring is my favorite transition. I long for the shift from shades of mushy gray to the bright, cheerful blossoms sprouting in every landscape.
Spring makes me feel like a kid again–as if everything good is unearthed at once to reveal the very best version and the newness of things.
This year, the path from Winter to Spring feels different to me. The past few months have seemed like a hibernating and readying sort of period, with all kinds of possibility and life stirring underneath. In the same way that the Christmas season was undeniably more tangible to me this year, the transition out of Winter and into Spring feels like a mirror image of what’s happening in our very expectant life. And at the same time that green will unfurl on every branch and tulips will grace every boulevard in town, we’ll be welcoming new life and celebrating amidst the evident growth all around us.
I am so grateful for an ever-present sense of hope as we count down days. It is impossible to ignore when it’s coming up right before my very eyes. Life in these moments looks like a time lapse of the first Spring bud–making its way up through the thawing ground and into the light and air and sunshine, displaying its color and grandeur and splendor one petal at a time.
I know that we’re still a few weeks from March, and that we’ve already received notice of another snow blast coming our way within the next 72 hours, but the temporary melt has made the next few months seem so tangibly real. The seasons are changing, and so much else with them. I can hardly wait!
admiring (dry) sidewalks