I officially lost a bet today to my son, Cory. I said the snow in our yard would be mostly gone. We rounded up the visible lawn to 1 percent, and that's being generous.
I can still walk atop the retreating glacier. I have been able to do this on and off for two weeks, even when it was 2 feet high.
I haven't been able to do this since I was a kid. Maybe walk on a couple of hardened inches, but not atop 2 feet of it. I can walk anywhere on it. Up the hill, into the woods, right up to the Birches. This is cool.
I walk into our adjacent acres and pass through the oak grove we thinned and up to the hemlock I admire, over the stream. You can't do this when it's muddy or buggy or chocked with brush.
The thaw has melted ringlets around the trees, in circles and ovals. This is nature's art. This week the exhibits are abstract and minimalism. In a short time we’ll enjoy the impressionistic spray of spring, when a thousand trees sprout tiny buds in a slowly blossoming Monet.
There's something magical about walking on the snow. You can go anywhere and see through the woods to the landscape beyond. Spring is near and soon this will be gone. We'll be warmer and happier and ready to charge into life, a world of green and promise, of sunshine and rain. Outdoor cooking and biking and kayaking. Woo-hoooo!
But this time is special, too, just for being a part of the process in the change of seasons.