Because of the abstract nature of time, as well as the observable factors, I've been quite all right with saying it's spring for the last two or three weeks. According to the calendar, the season's still got a sunrise to go, but that's only the equinox. I've dealt with blizzards on vernal equinoxes before.
During some recent hops down below, I've noticed buds appearing on trees, sprouting flowers, and green grass. I wore sandals for the first time in months not but a few days ago. The simple pleasure of driving somewhere barefoot brought a cheshire cat's grin to my face. I've seen more cats wandering about in shorts and sandals. The river flows freely once more and the Long Loch is starting to defrost. The ice fishermen begin to move on, finding colder climbs for their strange hobby.
The cliche here in the mountains is there's only three seasons; sun, snow, and mud. Mud being synonymous with spring. The dirt streets of our township are muddy as the snow melts. I've finally been able to get all the spots the hounds have used as water closets around the house during the long cold winter. There are the embryonic shades of emerald intermingled with the khaki grasses. More birds are starting to appear at the feeders, which intrigue the cats with predatory curiosity. It won't be long before the hummingbirds are trilling throughout the valley. The snow, which appeared around the beginning of the long dark, slowly recedes further and further into the shady spots. Seeing more exposed ground than snow drifts is always a happy thing. This passing winter, it seems we've gotten more snow than in the previous couple of years.
It has snowed, despite my personal decoration of high country spring. After all, this is the mountains. We are at over nine-thousand feet above the surface of the world's oceans. It can snow in summer here. But the few snows have not lasted long. Their dustings absorbed into the waking earth within a day.
Watching the world slough its seasonal skin is always nothing short of amazing to me. I catch myself getting restless. The longer days herald sitting on the porch or out back with the hounds, a book, and tea. Shorts and sandals. Longer walkabouts into the bush without so many layers or snowshoes. Grilling and bottles of wine under the stars by the light of the chimenea.
It is possible there's still another big storm before it's all said and done, this time of year being known for the heavy wet snows, but I wouldn't mind the minor storms. Perhaps just some rain. But I also know what will happen will happen and it's quite beyond my request or control. So, I sit back, listening to rhythms and rhymes of the cosmos, with a cheshire cat's grin upon my face, whilst enjoying how mud as sprung, waiting for the season of sun.