The snow is slowly…

receding back into the ground as dull gray green grass takes its place. The trees are quiet with the sleep before morning their branches warmed by a higher sun.

Of course it won’t all come at once. There are fits and starts, days of light and hours of rain or snow and the cold that seems to always stay close to these parts. Yet they are here, the sure signs of another winter passed and the days to come when open windows fill a home with lively air.

As the years accrue winter loses its charms. Those things that were inviting to us in days gone by get colder and more formidable with every candle on the cake. We endure because we, for whatever reason, are here but our thoughts jump beyond the winter to some more hospitable place and then one day we realize we’ve basically spent more months than we imagined without ever leaving a building. We’ve become prisoners of our warm spaces, captives of the winds that stream down from Alberta.

Somewhere along the line the first cracks appear in that ice, the first signs of something more like life. The world seems to change. We seem to change. We stretch. We yawn. The scales fall off our eyes. We thaw as the world thaws. We emerge like the first blades of green grass or the daring tulip next to the house. It is spring and we join the rest of the world in taking a few tentative steps outside.


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