We wintered hard in Minnesota this year, packing ourselves up daily for a snowy trudge to work, pulling on furry boots, the outer hide still wet and matted from the previous day. Our morning rituals were closed by the reluctant zip of a feathered-down jacket. Our gait reduced to a heavy waddle under the weight of 3, sometimes 4 layers. We shivered through the first 5 minutes of our favorite morning radio show, rewarding our resilience with sips from tightly sealed traveling coffee mugs.
After all that work, it was difficult not to feel entitled to a little reprieve. When Spring poked her head up and tiptoed across my bedroom floor to greet me on that first bright morning, I felt for sure she was here to stay. The boxes came out of storage. Closet hangers were emptied and refilled with glowing clothes that bounced and swayed.
Alas, the following morning spring was nowhere to be found. She was hiding somewhere, giggling and waiting to be caught, while snow flurries tickled the shy, naked ground, causing it to tense up.
My bouncy clothes proved to be poor armor from the darkness. I watched and felt camaraderie as drivers stopped at stoplights, clutching their travel coffee mugs in desperation.
I’ve heard grief comes in stages; denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally acceptance. In the past few weeks I am sure I have felt them all. I ran through the bitter wind and flurries of May day. I cursed the sleeting skies of April. I promised to take advantage of ever ounce of sunlight granted. I slept and watched bad TV shows instead of blogging; and finally, I welcomed the weather in whatever form it chose to appear.
Late this 43 degree morning, Spring padded her sleepy feet slowly out of hiding, rubbing her eyes, and widening her lips into a smile that warmed us to 62 degrees! I whistled my way to the co-op with a delicious craving to blog!