Coronation

This morning before leaving for work I was forced to tromp through mounds of snow and scrape it from my windows. It was heavy and wet and required very little effort but by the time I was done my shirt and socks were soaked all the way through and I needed to change clothes. Duncan watched me huff and puff and curse, and wondered, I'm sure, why I didn't just throw myself into the stuff and roll around like he does. What else is it for? After all, this morning was most likely the last opportunity I'll have until October. It's a lesson he's attempted to teach me over and over and over again, but I don't appear to fully understand. Still, he doesn't mind demonstrating.

Like Duncan, fickle, darling Spring has many lessons to teach. For instance, what we see is not always what we get. What is true one hour can be false the next. My cigarettes and I kept tabs on the day, stepping out every few hours from the dark corner where my desk sits in the back of the bookstore to turn my face up into the strengthening sunshine and warmth until the hour I arrived back at home to my dog, waiting as patiently as the grass, victorious over yesterday's snow, green––more green than before––and exposed. I took him back to the park, back to the places we'd played yesterday, recreating our walk, this time without the snow-angels or the blowing flakes flying into my glasses or sneaking under my collar.

The world is different today and I can't help but hope it will stay different, greening up more and more, turning bright with exploding flowers and the scent of so much growth, creating itself anew every few minutes. I do not hold a grudge against winter's last gasp because it made this afternoon all the sweeter.

See for yourself.


What a difference a single day can make. How happy my Willow Queen must be in her coronation gown.