Springtime is a chancy time when hyacinths, daffodils and crocus splay bright yellow, purple and pink among the pale winter grasses. And I am fooled again this year into promises of warm sunshine and long walks, a gentle breeze as my companion.
Then the winds shriek from the snow covered peaks as a reminder that freezing temperatures and bouncy barometers are demanding their last chilling breath.
Crabapple trees adorn the boulevard with pink and white blossoms perfuming the air only to be tossed skyward in the chaotic surprising wintry assault.
Yet, I turned the dark garden soil and patted down lettuce, calabaza squash, radish and spinach seeds into the ground, trusting what warmth does seep through the partial sun will tempt them from dormancy.
This annual impatience after months of frigid weather reminds me that all change takes time. Shrug on another sweater and don’t unpack those summer dresses yet. All in good time, they say…whoever they are.
Then I can complain about oppressive heat come July and August.
Poem by Patsy Kate Booth