Several weeks ago my daughter and I set out one evening. As we were about to get into the car, I stopped. “Sshh. Look.” I said.
“In the pear tree,” I pointed.
“Wow Mom—the first robin of spring.”
Earlier that morning we had spotted three red-winged black birds in the top of some trees (they are, and probably always will be, my favorites). Then in the evening a robin.
Now, there are chickadees and finches flitting around the house, landing on the porch railings, dragging twigs and other debris to build new nests in preparation for their families. Fall bulbs are poking their stems upward through the frozen ground—in a ground breaking effort of unprecedented proportions. Red-winged blackbirds accompany me on my commute to and from work.
Pretty soon we will have the first couple of days over 50°F for 24 hours, and the evening bird calls will be joined by a concert of chorus frogs and spring peepers.
Daylight is longer—I can now watch both sunrise and sunset, and pretty soon tea or coffee on the porch will be a delightful pleasure as I watch the lingering twilight.
It has been a long, brutal winter. And, it’s not over yet—after all it is still March, and even May can have snow. But each of these little surprises is a gift for having hung in there through the cold and the snow and the gray. And getting to slowly unwrap each gift as it presents itself is truly delightful.
There is joy in every new bird call heard, in every new flower that dares to show itself, in every tree showing new growth, leaf buds and flowers.
So, as old man winter slowly, grudgingly gives way to a new birth of spring, savor each change, each spot of slightly greening grass, each few seconds of added twilight, and know that whatever your situation there is always hope and renewal on the horizon—as surely as there are seasons every year.
© 2014 Michele Arduengo. All rights reserved.