I had to go shopping yesterday which means a fairly long drive through Connecticut back roads to Waterford and New London. It is a beautiful drive, usually. Yesterday it was not. The snow has mostly melted. Everything is brown and grey, but very messy. How can woods be messy? We have had a lot of extreme weather the past two years. Trees knocked over, uprooted, split and broken in half, huge branches down, and debris everywhere. On top of that Connecticut Light & Power finally decided to get very serious about trimming trees along the miles and miles and miles of power lines in this state, including in small towns such as ours. They, at least, clean up most of their tree-trimming debris. But they left raw places on the trees they trimmed, empty places. But then on top of the broken and split, ugly trees are invasive vines everywhere with no foliage on them. Connecticut is not very pretty at all right now.
As I was driving I sensed potential just beneath the surface of every living thing. It felt as though there was a huge plug on spring and it was about to pop. Yesterday it was brown and grey but tomorrow I might wake up to daffodils, forsythia, azaleas, pear blossoms, and green grass. It will happen that quickly. Overnight. And I will rejoice in the beauty that hid just beneath the surface for months.
You see, we have had warm days where the daffodils creep up from beneath the soil, tentatively peeking their green blades above the surface to see if it is safe. It seemed safe. Then it would get very cold again for a few days and they would stop. Right in their tracks, they would just stop. Another few warm days and they would venture forth a little further. Boom, another cold spell with temps in the 20’s or low 30’s at night. I can see the flower buds now. They aren’t sure it is safe yet so they just wait. They sit and wait enjoying the sun that they get on the occasional sunny day. One day they will know it is safe to explode, and explode they will.
Yes, I have little green things growing in my kitchen. Yes, I have another jar of forced pear blossoms on my kitchen table. They are mere promises, premonitions of things to come: spring! It is nearly here. Waiting expectantly. Waiting for spring.