the promise of spring

If it weren't five degrees outside this morning with a couple of feet of crusty snow still on the ground I might begin to think it's spring. Alas, with daytime highs expected in the twenties and thirties for the next several days, the glaciers that surround our house are not about to recede any time soon.

And yet, as I keep reminding myself and the friends I meet on treacherous frozen paths, we are heading in the right direction; inch by inch, degree by degree, we are leaving winter behind.

The promise of spring, for me, is simple. It means being able to take Calvin outside in the backyard or down the sidewalk and to the fields. It means working the earth and seeing green. It means catching the first glimpses of flowers from bulbs I planted last autumn: tulips, crocuses, narcissus. It means longer days and warmer nights and barbecues, shumai burgers and bare feet. It also means giving Calvin less and less of his wicked benzodiazepine and seeing gradual improvements in how he walks, stands, behaves and sleeps. And it means he'll be getting sick less and, with luck, seizing less often, too.

Spring is a new beginning—a time to realize dormant dreams and, after such a long, hard winter spent mostly indoors, it feels as though I've done my time. So, I'm sitting here, most impatiently, aching to be set free.


  1. That's a lot of freaking snow, but you can see the grass.

    Everybody seems grumpy now, waiting impatiently for spring to finally arrive.

  2. It can't come too soon!

    Do you sew seeds indoors now? I have a batch of basil, dill and grape tomato seeds I planted 3 days ago, and look every few hours (!) to see what comes up.... fun!