It’s April. Everyone I know is talking sunshine, gardening, dirt and daisies. Not here. Not in northern Vermont. Here, we awake nine days into April – NINE days, count them – to snow. A sight that admittedly quickened the pulse once. A long l-o-n-g seven months ago.
But! we sputter. We had that day two weeks back when the air was so warm everyone was out in shirtsleeves. On skateboards. Bikes rolled up and down the avenue. Dogs frolicked. People smiled, relief at airing the tightly held need to stay warm released freely to no need for jackets, scarves, hats, gloves, heavy socks and boots. We didn’t even need to check the sidewalk for black ice.
We are of course not surprised. Mother’s Day snow is almost commonplace. The June snow is not quite mythical. We live in the northern mountains and when that doesn’t spell snow, it spells rain. And then we complain because there is no sun. BUT! – that is why the mountains do turn green. Eventually.
Remembering the intensity of that emerald green – once the snow has melted and the mud settled back down – how breath-takingly it appears after the blank canvas of so many months of white – I realize that I am more than ready this year for that welcome sight for sore eyes.