I would say we're balls deep in mud, but the hummingbirds showed up a week ago, and that makes it spring. There are the subtle omens; the grass is becoming green and flowers are sprouting out of the beds. On some of the trees, you can see the hint of leaves and the river is running a little higher as the higher up snowpack begins to melt.
Slowly, we shed the Grey apathy of winter. Sometimes, there has been snow. Sometimes, it has stuck. It can snow up here any time of year. Mountains. Because of the higher angle of the sun, in strange and psychological ways, forty-five degrees with no wind seems so much nicer than a month or two ago. Back in January, forty-five with no wind would constitute a deep winter heatwave.
Perhaps it is the world waking up to its short warmer times, maybe it's been exploring new places, both on foot and otherwise, it could be that discussion we had, upon which we decided on a course of action, but perhaps not yet, but my restlessness has somewhat abated. There is still the urge for adventure, to go!, go!!, go!!!, but I as have a sense of serenity. Mountain zen, perhaps.
Come what may, the mountains have taught me things. An expansion of horizons I could not find in great libraries, cities, fields, or forests. For that I am grateful. There are other adventures and other eventualities, though not yet. Here and now, I take in the here and now. Here and now, I am serene.