"The flowers of late winter and early spring occupy places in our hearts well out of proportion to their size." (Gertrude S. Wister)
It is too early, I know, and I'd be a fool to get excited about Spring, but I can smell it, a rich, heavy smell, like tilled earth, clean and fresh, the opposite of Autumn's smoke and bark scent. I can see it. The green poop littering our parks and sidewalks is drying up, dusting away like chalk. The morning birds perch on top of our building and call to us as Duncan and I pace the grass under clear, crisp skies. The sun, which eluded me for so long, sees me safely home and all along our walks. I can feel it when I open the windows on warm afternoons and lay with the cats on the bed, basking in the light and the fresh breeze. I can hear it in the calls of the gulls, which have recently appeared, crowding the sky. The geese are gaggling together in greater numbers, pacing restlessly on ground they have pecked and scoured clean for months. It is not here, but it is coming. I know it. I saw it today on our walk. And while March and April are typically Denver's snowiest months, I can still rejoice in a quietly hopeful way. With a little caution. And lots of patience.
It is too early, I know, and I'd be a fool to get excited about Spring, but I can smell it, a rich, heavy smell, like tilled earth, clean and fresh, the opposite of Autumn's smoke and bark scent. I can see it. The green poop littering our parks and sidewalks is drying up, dusting away like chalk. The morning birds perch on top of our building and call to us as Duncan and I pace the grass under clear, crisp skies. The sun, which eluded me for so long, sees me safely home and all along our walks. I can feel it when I open the windows on warm afternoons and lay with the cats on the bed, basking in the light and the fresh breeze. I can hear it in the calls of the gulls, which have recently appeared, crowding the sky. The geese are gaggling together in greater numbers, pacing restlessly on ground they have pecked and scoured clean for months. It is not here, but it is coming. I know it. I saw it today on our walk. And while March and April are typically Denver's snowiest months, I can still rejoice in a quietly hopeful way. With a little caution. And lots of patience.
The tulips are coming! The tulips are coming!Call me a fool for loving them but they are still coming!
4 comments:
I worship tulips...they are hope made green to keep us from completely giving in to the despair of winter.
A friend and I were just talking about this today. The dirty is calling to us. I drove home from work yesterday, thinking of planting bulbs.
Open the windows??? Warm afternoons??? TULIPS??? OH I am so jealous.
Out here in Nodak, we still dream of crocuses...tulips....and the perma-frost departing. Maybe June..
Dad
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