There are no flowers blooming yet. There are no leaves on deciduous trees. We don’t yet see the baby ducks or geese, no fawns, no baby buffalos in the farmer’s field.
It is not yet spring here in the foothills. Nor will it be, as my husband would clarify, officially spring for yet another couple of weeks.
But the feel of spring was in the warm sunshine through windows today. While the air outside, especially in the shadows, felt still cold and wintry, that air warmed by sun through glass brought with it a touch of spring.
On trees here and there, we saw the beginnings of buds, so early in their nascence as to be barely visible, but there nonetheless. Somewhere deep inside those trees the sap is slowly, but oh so surely rising. Spring is inside the plants, inside the animals around us. Winter wraps its lingering shroud around us in browns and grays, but we can now feel the green and others colors of spring waiting to come forth.
On this late winter day, sunshine gleamed on the lake surface, rippling like pale, golden lame'. No sparkling gown, no gold-laden Klimt design could be any more evocative of life-giving sun than the sight of those watery ripples breaking the sunshine into nature’s pixels.
These visions remain behind my eyes at day’s end: wild turkeys strutting through a neighbor’s yard, searching out the bits of edible sustenance there . . . a small herd of buffalo clad in their heavy winter coats grazing lazily on a hillside in the sun . . . one of our brazen squirrel visitors peering from the porch rail into our windows, perhaps seeing his own reflection or maybe a glimpse of us tapping away in our study . . . a roly-poly groundhog noshing in the grass at roadside. These visions are all cast against that dull sepia backdrop that winter paints here, but lighted gently today with the warm glow of sunshine. That glow speaks to my eye of spring, the season that lies just beneath the surface of this winter day.
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