There's been a whirlwind of activity in our household what with preparations for a family visit, a dance recital, and various children's parties over the weekend. There's a foot of snow rapidly melting away outside and maple sap evaporating on the stove. Mud season is upon us, and in a few short weeks there will be trout lillies in the woods and shad in the rivers - the latter don't make it up here above the Great Falls of the Housatonic but their cousins the herring are a welcome sign of spring down in SE Mass where my Grandmother lives.
Hurricanes Emily and Elias have been whirling dervishes in the close confines of our winter quarters -especially at bedtime - and are looking forward to mud puddles and swamp romps and spring peepers on warm rainy nights. They are planning gardens and thinking about swim classes and train rides and the joys of distant summer. I'd be happy to replace the snow shovel with a rake and throw the windows open to air out the house, but since we've only really had "winter" since February I don't feel as ready to let go of the season and as anxious for spring green as I normally do this side of the Vernal Equinox. Not that I'm asking for more snow to shovel, but the deep freeze never really settled into my bones this year and I find myself strangely sad at the abbreviated winter and perfectly content to let Spring unveil its face at its own pace and time of choosing.
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