At last, the hills of brown snow are starting to melt.
The skies are brighter, and the wind is not blowing such frigid air. I look out the window and I recall the recent snow; wave after wave of it.
The transition to Spring begins. It starts outside, and starts, too in our minds; our ability to imagine the verdant greens and vivid cerulean blue of pure Springtime. I feel the slow, warm thaw. Part of me is cold, most of me.
I do not yet believe in in the warmth of the bluing skies.
Then I feel it. A warming. I can see it and I can smell it: Fresh air. But part of me is still frozen. Part of me is still locked in step, cold and slow.
And then it happens. My senses all wake up to the subtle energy of warm. My blood flows more surely, my limbs move with more vigor.
The cold is truly behind me now. I could run outside now, and only wear a light jacket, or this kimono in whispery peach chiffon embroidered with nature’s motifs; the color my of my face when it blushes with the first hint of sun on the horizon.
I am joyful. I could skip down the sidewalk. Embarrassingly, I do just that.
The dirty snow is still there. But it is almost like a shadow. All that is left is for it to melt. Spring is here, surely.
