Perpetual Astonishment

Every spring is the only spring - a perpetual astonishment. (Ellis Peters)

Ever so slowly, nearly imperceptibly, Spring is finding its way into our corner of the world. It is premature to say, I know, especially since March and April are typically the snowiest months in Denver, but I have walked these fields and the darkened paths for so long that my eyes are hungry for change.

It was another lovely day with temperatures hovering around 70˚, a warm breeze sifting through the last of the once-leaves, chasing them across the parking lot and scattering them down the wide avenues. The finches were singing in the trees outside the patio where Jeffrey's once-feral cat hunts, and a few golfers appeared on the yellow greens of the golf course. The park was blessedly empty but full of life, with flocks of heavy, black crows croaking from the naked tree limbs while squirrels ran erratic circles around their trunks.

Dunc jogged far ahead, his nose pulling him from one boggy patch of earth to the next, his tail propelling him forward as he went. I found him sitting in the center of the walk at the edge of the baseball diamonds, his back to me, his face turned rapturously into the sun. He barely noticed my arrival and it wasn't until I stepped beside him and rested my hand on his narrow shoulder that he turned, his tongue hanging out, a grin spread wide across his face. We stood a long moment together, not moving, looking up into the blue, the warmth of the sun kissing our faces, blessing and encouraging us for these last few difficult weeks of winter.

He led me to the baseball fields, which have been been cleaned and painted and then back out onto the wide soccer fields, where the posts have already been erected and the grounds marked for the hoards which will no doubt arrive this weekend. He galloped and rolled in the dry grass, the barren trees and stark color a backdrop to his glorious red. It would have been easy to feel discouraged by the weight of these too-short days and the early nights still creeping upon us, to sigh discontentedly at the dry yellow, if Duncan hadn't searched out and found a small, hardly visible patch of greening grass to roll in.

The world is changing and we are eager to change with it. There is hope and light and green to be found under the vast expanse of blue.