I personally know people who claim to like mustard and honey sandwiches, or Brussels sprouts, or country music, but I don’t know a single person who likes dirty snowbanks.
Let’s face it: in snow country, there are some parts of the journey towards spring that are just butt ugly.
But if you look just beyond the gray and grit, it’s delightful to watch winter soften around the edges.
People start peeling off the layers under pressure from a warming sun on their late afternoon walks, and the dust hasn’t yet started to kick up every time a truck rumbles by.
That not-yet-spring-but-thinking-about-it season gives you double the sky coverage, if you remember to look at the puddles and not the ick.
The willows vibrate yellow against the desaturated landscape, and all around you can hear the snow melting off the roof tops and the robins scolding everything.
The piles left behind by the plow are transformed into sculpted inukshuks.
I’ve always wanted to use “inukshuk” in a sentence but never had the chance before.
Inukshuk. Inukshuk. Inukshuk.
There… I’ve said it.
Patience is in the air. Buds are biding their time, but if you put your ear really close, you can hear their little biological clocks ticking.
Hints of green are starting to appear in the corners, and everything, and everyone, knows the time for new development, personal growth, and expansion is near.
Alfred Lord Tennyson had it right: “In spring, a young man’s fancy turns to thoughts of love.”
And the thoughts of middle-aged men?
They turn to “Waddya think of adding another porch on the west side of the house?”