It was a fine morning, though cloudy and more than a bit breezy. It’s supposed to be up near forty degrees today, and the path is almost safe enough to walk without wearing the ice cleats – which will be convenient, since it’s awkward to keep taking them off and putting them back on again once past the solid, unyielding ground that would damage them.
Getting tired of not seeing the sun, even though during the day we get peeks of blue sky. And I want spring. Warmth and fewer layers to put on to go outside, the colors of flowers and the different shades of green of grass and new leaves. Digging in the dirt, planting the garden.
But even though the year is turning warm early… even though it’s all but certain that spring is on its way, give or take another snowstorm or two… it can’t be spring yet.
Did you know spring has a smell? The scent of damp earth, warmed and being brought back to life by the sun; the scent that speaks of rain instead of the dusty cold of snow; the scent of old soggy leaves giving way to new grass… and despite the fast-disappearing snow I haven’t yet detected the smell of inevitable spring. Which means that the season hasn’t yet turned. Not fully.
Which is something of a good thing, however impatient a person might be for the change in weather and environs. The fact is, this spring is starting far too early; this kind of melt is for late March, not February. If it keeps up, the ticks and other insects will be worse than ever this year, the trees and spring ephemerals will expose themselves to the risk of a late frost.
On the plus side, the thaw so far has been slow and the frost line wasn’t very deep, so most of the water is soaking into the ground where it belongs, rather than running off into the rivers where it won’t do the fields much good.