And then there’s this: that sky.
This is the way to throw off winter’s blanket – lumps of snow, leaping down from the branches that shape them, making branch-shaped dents in the snow below, brightened under the blue. All that white will revert to green by the end of the day.
The female cardinal came to the kitchen door, hopping from the garden arch to the patio light, looking in at me, as if to ask for help; “please shake the snow off the bent cedars, my nest is at risk!”
I tell her it will melt soon, and it is melting fast. I can see her in there, bustling, making the necessary repairs.
And from the basement rumpus room I hear that my daughter has found a slow, brass instrumental recording of “Christ the Lord is Risen Today” that she is listening to on YouTube.
Which she follows up with her own exuberant rendition of “Take Me Out to the Ballgame.”
Well, now. Spring has sprung indeed.
I’m ready now.
Off to pay forty-five dollars more in state taxes than I will get back in federal but not getting bent out of shape about it because, honestly, look at that sky,
Your snapping-out-of-it and looking beyond Thursday and Friday to promise of Sunday,