I will be the gladdest thing under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers and not pick one.
―Edna St. Vincent Millay
Today was the snowstorm that wasn’t. The forecast called for anything from 0-16 inches, and we pretty much just got WIND and some rain.
I mourned the loss of John Bolaris, our ex-weatherman who once predicted another storm that wasn’t, prompting schools to close, salt truck drivers to work overtime and households to stock up on bread, milk and eggs for no good reason. It’s bad enough to be promised a foot of snow and given a smattering of rain; it’s downright insulting when you don’t have a personal love-hate relationship with a local weatherman to blame it on.
If I’m being very honest, though, I don’t mind at all the lack of snow. I’m ready for winter to be over. Ready for the sun on my face.
One of those freak warm days in January,
when I got to run in a tank top.
Check out my pit sweat. Nice.
I missed the emergence of the snowdrops last week, right on schedule, those wonderfully pale noddings of warm weather to come. Jeff brought me one while I was still shivering with fever, but I didn’t get to see or photograph them outside.
On Sunday I saw these yellow flowers while on the trails. I’m not sure what they are; the timing suggest marsh marigold but the leaves are wrong; cowslip seems right but if so they are quite early. Professor Google has let me down, so if you know please share
I’m glad to know they’re still there, not wilting under a layer of melting snow. Waiting for me to run tomorrow and see them again.
Everything is reawakening. Including me.
Is spring stirring in you?