No matter, though. The signs of spring have appeared, and the warm weather is not far behind.
I’ll tell you why:
The geese have arrived, honking and flying in unison and into each other, as if they too are anxious for the cold to be blown away. The sounds as they call to each other are majestic and magical; an easy give and take echoing the reminder that all which is difficult passes, and all that is real has always been there anyway, just beyond view. Just hold on.
I’ve seen pictures of daffodils and crocus pushing up bright colored stems from beneath the snow. Not here, though. But that’s ok – the spring catalogues have clogged my mailbox, bright with pictures of pretty dresses designed with daffodils and tulips, bright yellows and greens, the colors of Easter, evoking memories of Easters past.
The hardware stores have put away the shovels and taken out the rakes in anticipation of the Great Clean Up. Everyone is ready to clear their decks and walkways, ready to plant their flowers and arrange their planters.
The Lake, the great Ontario, is still a powerful sight. Once a blanket of white from the shore to the horizon, its starting to chip and wobble, the groaning from under the ice audible. Not from here though, but that’s ok. Even though my view has changed, my outlook hasn’t. I still hear it calling to me, this time for my presence in it, and not just from afar somewhere on shore. I am part of it now, and no one is more surprised than I.
The Book of Seasons is always changing, even though in some places it takes longer to turn the page. But that’s ok.
Spring is coming.