Spring? Oh, not quite.
So it’s snowed.
On March 10....
...the day after we “sprang forward” indicating we were on the downside to spring.
I am a sucker in that the gentle snowfall outside the windows of my new home on the edge of a stream and woods could not be more beautiful, especially when it’s heavy and wet and clings to the branches.
For me, even on March 10, this lazy Sunday has been gorgeous and soothing.
For my husband, not so much.
At 5:30 p.m., just before a warm dinner was ready, he headed out to snow blow and shovel before the rain set in. But as I watched him swipe perfectly symmetrical lines up our long driveway, I saw that it was indeed raining already, no longer snowing. His hood and red jacket were soaked. All I could see was his jeans, big snow boots, and nose.
Dinner was ready. I took it out of the oven and tented tin foil to keep it warm and then walked from window to window, to watch him go back over, and over, his already-perfect swipes.
But then I lost him.
I could hear the snow blower but couldn’t see him.
I checked dinner.
I lit the candles.
And then I caught a glimpse of him in the backyard, snow blowing, snow blowing, on and on.
He’d already cleared the path for Giroux Energy to stock our propane for fires, lit every night this winter. He’d already cleared a path to the heat pump. Why? I don’t know. Maybe there’s a chance some worker needed to get to it, and Frank, ever-thoughtful, was preparing the way.
He snow blows or shovels out the hydrant for the firemen, the electrical box, the turn-around we have on our property since we’re the last-house-on-the-left….I mean right.
It was when he kept going (and going) out back that I paused to write this blog.
Gently, Frank, with bare hands in the icy rain, wiped off his bird feeder. He cleared the way for the sweetest Cinderella-birds who live in our yard, wood peckers, cardinals and blue jays to get to the suet he just made a trip to the hardware store today to buy.
Ever-thoughtful, taking care.
The birds, and we, will make it to spring once again, the seasons of our lives. Almost there.