It's never easy to tell here in The Rockies––and I certainly don't want to jump the gun––but I think Spring may be dipping its toes in the DenverLand pool. It's never easy to tell as March and April are typically our snowiest months, and the flowers don't really bloom until mid to late May. Several years ago on my birthday (February 1st), Mom and Kevin came down from Idaho to visit. We awoke to a spectacular morning and spent the day at the zoo with the temperatures firmly resting in the low 80s. The next morning, though, we had a terrific blizzard. and they had to leave a day earlier than planned. It's par for the course here and while we relish our occasional warm winter blessings, we also view Spring with a cautious and suspicious eye. After all, Colorado is where we golf in January and ski until June.
For instance, even though Tuesday night was warm with a luscious breeze drifting through the windows, we awoke Wednesday morning to four inches of snow. Duncan was overjoyed, rolling and playing in the stuff while I scraped the windows and pushed heavy pounds of it off my car. The skies were low and white and the snow was thick and blinding. Walking through it was bitter and wet and we were both soaked within minutes. I left for work and spent the day in my windowless office dreading the long drive home, but by the time I stepped outside at 5 PM, the sun was out, the snow was completely gone and three little dandelions had sprung up along the edge of the sidewalk. While the mountains were still white, the skies were smooth and blue and the air smelled sweet and rich.
Duncan was waiting for me in the window, his tail wagging, a wide grin spread across his face. When we ventured outside he pranced and danced and pulled me across the greening grass to each of the trees, where small buds were beginning to appear. He was proud, as though he'd somehow arranged it himself as a gift for me. So we went to the park, where the ground was dry but still springy and soft and returned Roo's tennis ball with a satisfying and solid bounce. The lake, which had been cloudy and turbulent only that morning was smooth and clear and covered with a battalion of scrawny, squawking gulls and fat pelicans so big they looked like paddle boats. The little birds had invaded the trees and were content darting from green bud to green bud, chirping with each hop. It was miraculous and exactly what my spirit needed after a winter that began three weeks before Halloween. We grilled tilapia outside and slept with the windows open, the cool, candied air greeting us in the morning when we woke.
I am not convinced but remain hopeful.
For instance, even though Tuesday night was warm with a luscious breeze drifting through the windows, we awoke Wednesday morning to four inches of snow. Duncan was overjoyed, rolling and playing in the stuff while I scraped the windows and pushed heavy pounds of it off my car. The skies were low and white and the snow was thick and blinding. Walking through it was bitter and wet and we were both soaked within minutes. I left for work and spent the day in my windowless office dreading the long drive home, but by the time I stepped outside at 5 PM, the sun was out, the snow was completely gone and three little dandelions had sprung up along the edge of the sidewalk. While the mountains were still white, the skies were smooth and blue and the air smelled sweet and rich.
Duncan was waiting for me in the window, his tail wagging, a wide grin spread across his face. When we ventured outside he pranced and danced and pulled me across the greening grass to each of the trees, where small buds were beginning to appear. He was proud, as though he'd somehow arranged it himself as a gift for me. So we went to the park, where the ground was dry but still springy and soft and returned Roo's tennis ball with a satisfying and solid bounce. The lake, which had been cloudy and turbulent only that morning was smooth and clear and covered with a battalion of scrawny, squawking gulls and fat pelicans so big they looked like paddle boats. The little birds had invaded the trees and were content darting from green bud to green bud, chirping with each hop. It was miraculous and exactly what my spirit needed after a winter that began three weeks before Halloween. We grilled tilapia outside and slept with the windows open, the cool, candied air greeting us in the morning when we woke.I am not convinced but remain hopeful.
1 comment:
The transitional times balance on Hope and Hope Dashed, but before long, the snow comes now more and the flowers pretty the ground instead, bringing many bunnies.
I can't believe you have gulls and pelicans there!
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