Spring

The weather up north was horrible in February and early March. Snow everywhere. It was so bad that I had to rent a four-wheel drive car for the duration of my stay. After the plows had cleared out my driveway and all the electrical boxes serving outside, the sun finally came out, and temps began to slowly climb past the freezing point. March may have come in like a lion, but maybe now the winter beast was done wreaking havoc, and the lamb was in sight, its soft breath of warmth promising a break from the brutal conditions of the previous six weeks. Seems no matter how bad the weather is in February, when March arrives with Daylight Savings Time, the gloom lifts and the crocuses begin to peek out.

At home, I lit a fire in the hearth and picked up my ancient copy of Thoreau, whose observations on nature I find inspiring during the seasonal changes. “I am reminded of spring by the quality of the air. It is a natural resurrection, an experience of immortality.” Whoa, that guy had a way with words. I picture him sitting in his tiny, uninsulated cabin at Walden Pond as the ice breaks, his ink pen and paper on hand to so eloquently take down his thoughts.

I know the Hamptons are not done with winter wonderland just yet, but the air is different now, and the birds will soon be flocking back to the feeders and the swans to the pond in my backyard. Up north at camp in Maine, Greg forecasts that the ice will soon break and the water pipes unfreeze. The mice will vacate the house when Katie starts her spring cleaning. Change is in the air, and I look forward to it.