I can hear it outside my window. First, a few drops dripped down optimistically. Now there is a steady deluge pouring through my gutters. It sounds as if it were raining, but I know it is only my roof. Soon, the snow covered hill my small town is built on will flow freely, flooding the valley below.
I hear the crows calling a little more clearly today. They give me hope that their gentler cousins will soon return to our yard. I long to see my children again covered in grass stains, storming through the fields. I want them to smell the first yellow dandelion that struggled out of the frozen ground, smiling with her bright face as if to say, “I persisted.”
It has been a long and cold winter in my corner of the country. “Record Cold Temperatures” and “Unprecedented Snowfall” have been the headlines for so many days that I no longer bother with the forecast. Cold. Snowy. I know.
This winter has given us as many days in single temperatures than not. And on the many days when the cold air has stubbornly stayed in the negatives, I struggle to find anything positive. Cozy cups of cocoa have started to burn my threat, and wool blankets scratch my skin. Candles dance as if to mock me, reminding me of a time when light came from the sky.
I hear the world melting, and I long to stretch my bones again. But I remind myself it is only February, and spring is yet a long ways off. It will snow, again and again. And I will start to believe that the time of joy-filled change will never return.
But there is movement now. The earth has begun to shove off its command that all must be cold, white, and silent. I see the cracks across the lake, and I know.
Springtime is coming.