Karen Hirst
Lengthening dark shadows lay their content upon white glistening canvases in neighbourhood yards.
The first day of March and the indicators of Spring are tallied with anticipation that spring can’t be far behind.
The intensifying heat of the sun is burning deep into the hardened ice and snow-producing streams of running water making a pathway towards the Mississippi if not halted into collecting pools in the dips and valleys along the roadway. Slowly what has lain dormant in hibernation all winter is exposed to the light of day.
Along with an increasing awareness of birds chirping outside our windows, we will soon announce with delight our first sighting of a robin pecking feverishly into the hardened patches of exposed yard. We’ll declare having seen or heard the return of the Canadian geese making their annual stopover on the river before continuing their trek north.
The signs come in rapid succession upon the extended daylight into the supper hour calling forth a renewal and rejuvenation of life in all its varied formations. We eagerly move into this new season of refreshment, discarding the heaviness of winter and with that, ever moving closer to fulfilling the passions of the season.
Opening the cottage for the first time in the spring, getting the kid’s names on a roster of players for baseball season, shining up the putter for an Arnie Palmer moment on the golf greens, mapping out plans for garden extensions anticipated in the fall … it is all gloriously joyous and energizing to relish the anticipation of what spring has as its offering.
“Grandpa how close are we now, how much longer?” His pat response, “not much further, just around the next bend.” Quieted in the short term until with renewed disappointment the next bend passed and still no sign of the cottage … once again the inquiry, once again the answer.
We all know anticipation.
