I glanced at the garden thermometer on my way to put the garbage cans out for pick-up tomorrow. Forty-two degrees Fahrenheit. At 8:30 PM.
Overhead, in the deep blue night sky, Orion was tilted toward the half-moon, and stars of other mid-winter constellations coyly twinkled and blinked at each other.
I had to dig out spots in the snow bank, which the borough pushed up against the carriage house (barn) doors, in order to set the cans back from the alley. That's when I smelled it.
Spring.
I smell Spring wakening. I smell it in the melting snow, that now smells like cold water, not fluffy flakes. I smell it in the wet earth, soaked by the melting snow and warmed by Earth's furnace core. I smell it in the nascent greens and reds of burgeoning buds on the maples and the dogwood, the persimmon and the sassafras. I smell Spring in the sweet-decay perfume of last year's leaves, not quite rotted to the stinking stage yet, but getting there.
I heard Spring stirring down the alley as melting snow gurgled its way to the gutter that runs on either side of the street. Too late to hear the melting icicles' song* this time, I was serenaded by the squeaking tree limbs as they stretched from their cold sleep. Not time, yet, for sap to run, but soon...soon.
I felt Spring brush against my cheeks in the slight breeze from the southeast that brought the scent of Spring to my nose. I breathed the scouting party of warm-weather aromas, and nearly swooned in anticipation. Deep, cleansing, refreshing breaths filled lungs stagnant with winter house-air and the last remnants of pneumonia. Spring entered my body and soul, lifting my spirits and my hopes.
For a quarter of an hour, or so, I stood on the cement apron to the carport and luxuriated in the coming of Spring. I will sleep well tonight and have happy dreams of aconite and snowdrops, of violets and crocus blossoms, of baby crows and returning Canada geese.
Life is good.
(*) in the comments section of that post.
14 comments:
Oooh, you've brought back memories of that special smell of spring when the thaw begins! I'd forgotten it until now for I've not lived in a true winter climate for over thirty years. Hope this keeps up and you'll soon see those aconites and snowdrops!
It's very good news to know that Spring is on her way to you. You write about it so beautifully that I felt her soft breath and saw the gentle folds of her verdant gown from the corner of my eye. May she bring you dreams of daffodils swaying on a sunlit hillside.
We're in the middle of a snow storm here in the UK. Spring might be coming but winter is determined to give us a good kiss goodbye.
"Oh, the barnyard is busy in a regular tizzy,
And the obvious reason is because of the season
Ma Nature's lyrical, with her yearly miracle
Spring, Spring, Spring."
Seven Brides for Seven Brothers, still one my favourite musicals not least because of "I'm a lonesome polecat".
This made me smile.
Oh, I envy you---here in MN the ground is still cement hard.
However, some of the snow is starting to melt into huge mucky puddles you have to leap over to cross the street.
Martha! Your description is wunderbar! Here, the icicles have been reduced to stubs by a steady rain, and the Canada Geese are flying in from the northwest. There is mud ... oh, is there mud! But with the right shoes, even that sound of coming spring is welcome.
I'm still waiting for Spring to enter my body and soul, but I'm glad to know it's at least found SOMEONE I know!
By the way, if you'd like to see more Nick Bantock, click on the highlighted words in my comment. He has done some hauntingly beautiful pieces.
No Spring yet on the prairie. Another month at least. Sigh.
Now if those danged geese really would return...and stay. I do like them in the oven, however. Buttered.
ok---now I officially have spring envy!
lots of the cold wet freezing white stuff around my neck of the woods as well.
glad to hear about the softening of the season
Good morning, everyone:
Marja-Leena: I love the smell of spring, especially the aroma of the earth warming up. Makes me want to dig in the dirt.
Susan: And I will dance among the daffies!
Steve: You have my most heartfelt empathy. Today's weather has slipped back toward winter, but I know the warming I felt the other night is under there, working its magic.
BB: I haven't watched the movie version for ages. Maybe I will talk daughter into watching it this weekend. My Dad used to occasionally declare at breakfast that we were having his favorite meal (no matter what was on the table): polecat hash with catheads and peckerwood gravy.
Kali-D: Glad you are smiling. How are things down your way? We aren't that far apart, but sometimes it gets warmer in your area weeks before it does here.
Fresca: Just wait, it won't be too much longer before your part of the world begins to thaw a bit, too. All that snow will feed the Mississippi this spring.
Rouchswalwe: Your icicle pictures are wonderful. I especially like the view from the top down, with the drops caught in mid-air. Good shots!
Bev: I went back to your site and followed your link to Bancock's work. "Wow" doesn't do it justice. Wonder how he layered all those images together so beautifully?
Maria: Hang tough, friend. Spring is coming, I know it is.
Jim, you're impossible! However, let me know when the goose is in the oven. I'll bring a spicy chutney that will go quite well with roasted goose.
Harlequin: I imagine your white stuff is much deeper than ours is, but it, too, will melt before long. I'm no groundhog, but I feel it in my bones>
We struggle with the early bulbs. I've planted Aconites but they never appeared this year.
And snowdrops? well, we have two that have popped up.
Yet Daffodils pose no problem so I'll have to wait for their exhuberant entrance.
.......and I can't wait too.
Hello, John!
My snowdrops and aconites were planted long before we bought the house, and have become naturalized. Other bulbs, however, have not fared as well, especially those we planted. We used to have daffodils, a couple of dozen or so, but I'm lucky to find two or three in the yard now.
Violets, on the other hand, form a lovely carpet in some parts of the yard.
Oh, hurry Spring!
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