The Between Time

The days grow by seconds, reaching for the light. Longing for length. Crocus color the snow as daffodils sneak in, waiting patiently for their turn.  The calendar has a tulip in the square, denoting spring. But winter is putting up a good fight. The vernal season looks well on a white background. I admire its determination. The between time. Not winter. Not spring. The best of both worlds.

I love frosty nights. Brisk  morning walks where the sun urges me to doff my sweatshirt, but instead I pull up my hood to block the wind. I spy things breaking through in my garden. Unsure of their identity, I long to dig in the dirt. To turn over handfuls of cold, wet soil. Plant seeds.  Despite the sun's tease, I know it's not time. This is the season to clear the cobwebs. Reflect. Renew. Refresh.

The trees are beginning to bud, but they too are waiting. Patient. Stoic. I see beyond their nakedness, deep into the woods. The birds are busy, picking through the leaves looking for food and nesting materials Their chorus sings me awake each morning. On warm nights, the spring frogs pierce the dark. Their peeps echo through the bare trees alerting us that the time for warmth is close. The loamy, rich scent from the thawing earth teases my nose. The woods are fertile for new growth.

I'll miss winter. Fires, soups, and fuzzy sweaters. But as nature gears up for spring, it's time to pause. Sit back and enjoy the between time. I'm grateful for another season. New beginnings. Now...for just a little while.