For the moment, pretty darn far up north – where I live – most of the snow has melted into barely green lawns dotted with brown, wet leaves from the prior fall and the expected – but still always surprising – clusters of crocuses in violets, lilacs and deep yellows.
Every spring, these beauties peek out from a thinning blanket of snow and call out to weary passerby that warmer weather will come soon. Maybe not today, or even for a few more weeks. They seem to say, “Don’t slip from the rock face, the ice will not pull you down. Soon, you’ll be on the other side of the mountain and the sun will shine warmly on your back.”
So when the late spring storm finds a way – as it always does – to accompany morning commutes and soak through the thin mesh of sneakers because the boots are packed away, we’re not as bothered.
We can imagine the snowflakes are crystal daisy chains (or in this case, tulip chains), leading the way to a season when snow becomes water, fast and cold in a creek bed, ready to receive bare legs in rolled up jeans and toes free of socks. A transformation perfect for wading and then leaving, to meet the sun on our fronts and then our backs.