The past two days have hinted at the thaw; a time New Englanders sense by the smell of mud and grass, skies speckled with returning birds. Though more snow is predicted this week, it feels as if we're headed solidly toward the season of growing. Today mild breezes and sun were dominant forces and it's hard to think of mounds of snow and shivering mornings. By the end of February, I tire of gray, dream of small buds pushing through the intractable earth. I remember the bulbs that sit just below the surface, how tenacious they are in the whimsy of late March and early April. I've seen crocuses crowned with ice crystals and daffodils blooming in a snow-filled garden. Nature is filled with opposing forces. Much as I try to find something to love about a colorless sky, I welcome change. It is an advantage of living here--the variability of the seasons. The full spectrum of color awaits. I pull on my jacket and boots and head outside to watch and wait.
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