The ground is still covered with snow, but it is melting fast.
Last week the ground was uneventful white. This week, a puddle on the actual ground.
Jessica, in Boston decided to celebrate March as the beginning of Spring after I said "I really go nuts in March." At the time that I wrote that, I was actually thinking that I go nuts when it is March but still Winter, but I have decided to adopt her much more optimistic interpretation of a happy crazy. Which is pretty easy to do when it is 40 degrees F, skies are blue, and the sun reflecting off the snow is almost blindingly bright. In other words, it really is Spring.
Usually, this is my worst time of year. I seem to get thrown off when the light is rapidly shifting to that of October, but the trees are bare, the snow is grey or gone: there is no color. This makes me feel a bit off and I tend to mope around and get nothing done. My good friend has helpfully given me the diagnosis of "seasonal ineffective disorder."
But I was determined to celebrate with a "first day of Spring walk by the River." Because there are giant puddles on the streets I wore my old waterproof boots. Big mistake: they have no tread and my descent into the gorge on the slippery snow was a fairly terrifying slide.
Looking down some more, I was amazed to see green peeking out from under the snow. How the moss jump out of dormancy so fast? Does anyone know?
The thick ice ledge on the edge of the river is cracking. I dared myself to stepped across.
The biggest surprise of getting this close to the edge was the sound of water slapping the softening ice. This was as close as I dared go. Although you can see the ice is still thick here, I kept imagining that it would break off, and I would float downstream on an ice island.
Apparently, my spring celebration was an attempt to terrify myself. I must do it more often.
