This time of year tries my patience. I don't like being cooped up inside. It is too treacherous for me to venture out today, just as it was yesterday, and the day before. I do not enjoy looking out the window and waiting for the ice to melt so I can take a walk down my road and see what might be popping up along the way.
Of course, many people already have jonquils and early blooms trying their best to make it through the on again, off again, beginning of spring. The teasing days that came before our latest onslaught of ice and snow were just a taste of things to come. My flower beds are clear and ready for new plants. I am waiting for that first blush of green on the trees down in the valley.
Patience is not one of my virtues. I want to get out and walk down my road, even if I have to slog through the mud. My eyes long to see the first green leaves peeking up from the still cool earth. My ears long to hear that first birdsong that tells me nests are being built, ready for young.
I am a child again. It seems that looking forward is half the joy of living. Anticipation. Wonder. Just wanting to be part of what is happening. And if I desire spring, why is it not here? Why can't it be now? Is it spring yet? I ask. And the older me answers, Just be patient. It will come.
