Evan and I have had this ongoing discussion about the change of the seasons. He has been lamenting that the snow disappears in the spring and he does not want to see the snow disappear. I have been trying to convince him that each season offers some new pleasure. Winter is snow, Spring is planting, summer is swimming and bike riding, fall is apple picking and playing in big piles of leaves.
He is not quite convinced yet. However, today as he was tagging along with me, while we ran errands, he commented, " Today is a good day to play outside."
It is indeed.
In years past the notion of mud season carried this quaint impatience to see the ground dry so that work in the garden could begin. The switch from winter boots to mud boots seemed like this seasonal transition for my feet that might be shocked by wearing actual shoes too early in the season. Inevitably one pair of shoes might get a little slop on the sole, a seasonal christening of mud, as a rite of spring. This year mud season has taken on a new meaning as the 2 and 1/2miles to the pavement challenges the all-wheel drive of our low riding subaru. Later today, when I leave to pick up Mark, we will more than likely have to walk in from the end of the road as the warm weather has made our road nearly impassable.
This too shall pass. In a couple of weeks the frost will leave the ground, the town will rake the road and we will be driving all the way to our front door for the first time since last December.
For now I will relish the smell of fresh air as I open the windows for the first time this spring. I will mark the retreat of snow as bare patches of ground are revealed. I will toss aside my wool sweater and feel the warmth on my skin.