Couldn't have been sweeter. Dawn came almost shyly, the sun emerging from a thin layer of mist that recast mighty Apollo as a Florida orange. There's a potpourri of images here, but the real story is what happened after the pilgrimage. Temperatures reached just about seventy--a beautiful inaugural for spring.
Here and there on the river bank, a shadowy bank of remnant snow, but the ice was gone--and so were ducks, the geese, and all that bedlam from just a week before. Who knows where they're all at this morning? I'm not sure what they're called, but a huge maple along the bank was pregnant, some kind of seedlings clinging to otherwise death-like branches. You'll see a couple in the pictures below--the only clear sign of new life emerging from the river bank.
Three friends came along. To share joy is a gift, especially when that joy is all around. If these temps continue (impossible to imagine), by next week an emerald grace will emerge from the ditches, in the trees, in the grasslands.
But I doubt it. That we could walk as sweetly into actual spring seems unimaginable. After this memorable winter, we deserve such sweet passage; but I'm just too much of Calvinist to think we deserve anything. My boots are still there where I can reach them.
Yesterday's was Walt Disney's version of the first day of spring, a blessing.