In New England, we celebrate the January thaw. It isn’t supposed to be as warm as it’s been recently, the temperatures warming into the fifties, and bulbs being fooled into sending their first shoots into the light. No, the January thaw is supposed to be nights in the teens and daytime in the forties. These warmer days just make our reaction more foolish.
We rush outside. We shed our winter coats and forget hats and mittens. Anywhere you see young people, there are guaranteed to be several in shorts, their wet sneakers plodding through the sad, dirty remnants of snow.
We get notions about garden planning and any nursery open sees an uptick in customers, staring at empty shelves where perennials will appear, when real Spring emerges.
In short, we find hope. It reminds us that although there will still be days (and days) of ice and cold, Spring does return, and soon enough, the hot humid of summer will make us groan, wishing for the cool days of winter again.
A special thanks to Ms Buffy. I’ve been filling your in-box and you have taken my lumps of coal, polishing them into something more.
A shout-out to Gyllene, the wonderful artist whose work graces this story.
And all my best to you, who read and remark. I enjoy our shared conversation!
natsgirl1 