Spring. . .
I love the freshness of Spring. The cherry blossom trees outside my office window shake their fragrant petals in the slight breeze and shower them on my puppy and me as I walk my white Westie terrier in the soft ambient light of the late-afternoon sun.
I marvel at the tulips as they push their way out of the weather-beaten winter soil. Their pink and white perky heads remind me of last June when my husband, and I visited Amsterdam. We toured the floating flower market on our many walks around Amstel river and upon spying rows and rows of upright Holland tulips, my husband turned to me and said, "Let's buy a box to take home."
The flower shop owner informed us that they'd mail the bulbs to us in October. When October rolled around and there were no bulbs marked "express delivery from Holland" I fleetingly thought back to our $120 investment and resigned myself to having been gypped. But before the end of the month, DHL had delivered the precious cargo with instructions on how to plant them in poorly written English.
And now, here they are, the earliest bloomers of March, springing into my front yard and evoking memories of a carefree holiday every time my head swings their way. There's relief that my puppy hasn't snapped their swinging heads off just yet. When I saw their erect flower-stalks protruding like so many necks craning to get a glimpse of their favorite celebrity at a movie premiere, I thought we were done with winter storms and the scourge of El Nino for good.
I came home from my afternoon walk, enjoying the feeble rays of the dimpling sun on my face; I packed my winter coats and Uggs away. I remember humming to myself that day as I carried out this joyous chore. If I dig deep into the recesses of my brain, I might even recall snippets of the song I belted out. . . totally off-tune, of course. I carefully removed my floral blues from the tissue-laden drawers in which they were nesting and shook them out gently. I pull out my wedges and gladiator sandals in gleeful anticipation. I was ready for Spring.
Today morning when I drew the curtains apart and stretched my arms over my head in full Suryaasan pose I noticed that it was thick and foggy and pelting rain outside. I picked up the remote and switched on the T.V. I caught the tail-end of Good Morning America's weather forecast.
" . . .A heavy storm is expected today and tomorrow with gusty winds. A cold front is moving in. Rain is expected for the next two weeks with intermittent gaps."
I closed the drapes with nerveless fingers, working rapidly. I snuggled back into the covers I'd thrown back so jubilantly just five minutes ago. It was time for this mama bear to hibernate.