Mary Pearson posted gorgeous spring photos yesterday.
Since it was, officially, Spring, i.e. the Vernal Equinox, i.e. Ostara, and I was well enough to get off the couch, I went in search of proof of the event in my own backyard.
I didn’t find much. Down south in Syracuse, they have grass and mud. Up here on the tundra?
Not so much. This is the end of my driveway. The driveway itself is slushy mud, which is a good sign, but there is still snow on the roof of the house.
::stares at Mary’s pictures again::
Here are my daffodils.
My Beloved Husband noticed my pout and scanned the horizon for signs of Spring. “Look!” he shouted, pointing to a small building on the farm down the hill.
I squinted. Put on my glasses. Squinted some more.
“No,” I shook my head. “You can’t fool me. We are going to be trapped in winter for months. And I’ll get the flu again. And we’ll lose power. And… and… and…”
He stuffed me into my (winter) coat and drove me down the road for a closer look.
He was right. Spring really is here.
Because that’s not smoke. That is the sweetest steam in the world pouring out of the sugar shack. The maple sap is running in the Forest. The farmers are collecting the sap and boiling – right inside that wonderful building – into maple syrup.
The Trees are wise. They know. It is Spring.
I feel much, much better now.