It’s been a long, cold winter. Record snowfall. Record cold. Mountains of snow drifts and piles and piles of the white stuff everywhere you looked. Now, don’t get me wrong. I am one of those strange persons who loves, and I mean LOVES the winter. I don’t mind the cold. I just bundle up. I love how walking in the woods on a cold winter morning invigorates me and makes me feel exquisitely alive. I love the feel of the cold air upon my cheeks. And once the fire is crackling in the fireplace, and I am snuggled on the couch under my favorite afghan with my favorite book, and a cup of tea, I can honestly say I am content and happy deep down to my soul.

However. This winter? I almost, I mean, seriously, I almost packed my things, got in my car, and drove down to somewhere, anywhere, where the temperatures were above 20 degrees. I almost believed that spring would never come back again. I missed my crocus, my daffodils, my snowdrops, especially once March came around. Usually those babies are blooming by mid-February, but this year, there was seven feet of snow blanketing my garden beds. End of March, still covered with snow. Finally, April came. And the snow disappeared, a little at a time, day after day. The warm spring sun melted the snow, even though the air temperature was still in the low 30’s. And once the snow was melted my garden revealed the purple and white crocus, the brilliant yellow daffodils, and the stems of tulips, Tiger lilies, and lots of leaves that need to be raked out.

Finally the air is warmer. The days are longer. The magnolia tree will bloom. The leaves will spread a canopy of shade which will be appreciated once the summer comes along. But for now, I’ll be grateful that the winter is behind us and spring is upon us. And I shall say with all the dry wit that my father says every year…”Spring has sprung. The grass is riz. I wonder where the flowers is..”