Mother-Struck

Daffodils are in full bloom now and crocuses have flaunted their palette of colors—purple, lavender, white, yellow, gold. This weekend I spotted my first hyacinth and yesterday, while on a walk through the neighborhood, I turned a corner to see a tree bursting in cotton-candy blossoms.

This morning? Everything’s blanketed in snow.

It’s allowed, I suppose. It’s still Winter, after all. As poet and novelist Alice Walker wrote:

“Mother. Once again doing it just any old way you like. Mother is my favorite name for Nature, God, All-ness.”
—from “Crimes Against Dog” in Dog Is My Co-Pilot

In Case the Groundhog Is Right…

I’ve been under the spell of Springlike temperatures and bursts of color here in the Bluegrass.

Crocuses have popped up everywhere and honeysuckle bushes have bloomed. Taller bulb flowers—jonquils, daffodils, tulips—have been ever-so-slowly pushing their way toward the sun since December. The bees seem as thrilled as I am about the early blooms.

I realize none of this guarantees Old Man Winter’s departure, so I’ve been making the most of the interim. Yesterday, my husband and I ate an early picnic dinner in a nearby park filled with towering old trees and alive with tennis players, skateboarders, dog walkers, and toddlers on swings. And squirrels, one who discovered a special fondness for our malt vinegar chips.

The whole scene was scrumptious.

It’s Here!

First Day of Winter…

[Pic from Simply Marvelous: The Wonderful World of Horses.]

Portent of Winter

Wednesday night brought the first snowfall to my neighborhood. It didn't last long—turned to rain after its initial showy presentation.

As much as I dread the coming months of fierce winds, icy sidewalks, and movement-impeding layers of clothing, the first snow of the season is magical to me. It deserves my reverence . . . celebration. I hope I'll always feel this way.

"When I no longer thrill to the first snow
of the season,
I'll know I'm growing old."
—Lady Bird Johnson