A week ago it was ten below; yesterday, it was almost seventy. You do the math.
Yes, we have bone-chilling, soul-numbing winter here in the northern climes, but, thank the Lord, we also have spring; and when warm air saunters up from the south, like it did yesterday, it feels just about heavenly.
A friend of mine said she was getting ready for school a day or two ago, when she stopped and wondered about the noise she was hearing outside. It took her a moment before she realized, amazingly, it was birds. They were back.
My father-in-law used to say, this time of year, that if you listened closely, you could hear kernals wiggling in the seed corn bags, just rustling anxiously to get out there in ground. The real wiggling, I'm sure, was and still is in the hearts and souls of people who plant things. Old farmers were just picking up an echo, and they knew it.
But yesterday, when I looked over last year's wilted stems from the shrubbery on the south side of the house, I found these guys butting their bald heads up above the soil. I'm confident they'll get nipped off or at least slowed down some, but when nubbins like this make their debut after just one high-60s afternoon, I wonder whether my father-in-law wasn't right about the seed corn.
We've got some snow ahead of us yet, I'm sure--and some cold. But spring cometh. Ain't it a joy.