Today a fresh scent fills the air as a bank of clouds rolls in from the west. I sit in the tire swing which hangs from the muscular arm of an old oak tree and watch the coming storm. In the distance, thunder rumbles low and long. An uncanny, and unexpected, flood of joy and relief washes over me and brings tears to my eyes. The peels of thunder break winter’s silent fetters that chained my soul. I face the wind, fresh and warm with mild overtones. It tugs at my mussed hair and pulls at my cotton shirt as it races past. I stretch out my arms, as I did when I was young, with a wish it could lift me from the ground and carry me above the trees.
Today the hope of spring hangs in the air. The pussy willows, like furry grey felines peeking out from the covers, have burst open and now bask in the cozy sunlight, as felines are prone to do. The lilting trickle of melt-water breaks winter’s vow of silence. The mice venture out leaving tiny toe and tail trails on the snow rather than lumpy tunnels under it. The birds sing a lively tune, lending levity to the mourning dove’s somber song. Spring is stirring, ever so slightly. God is stirring in my heart ever so slightly, as well.