Mar 21, 2006 - 02:06:47 CST
Dirty snow volcanoes slowly wither in corners of parking lots. Some days, the suppressing gray hand of the sky evaporates, and we can see all the way to the sun again. We can smell it. Something's coming, and it's going to be wonderful.Though it's been a pretty mild winter here, it's still time for it to be spring.
Because spring is when we can stop "enduring:" Those frigid minutes hunched in a cold car, curled into a fetal position, waiting for heat to emerge from the vents, listening to the engine complain. Bracing yourself for the shock of cold to hit when you walk out the door, or for a scathing wind to take your breath away during the scurry to the mailbox. The "winter walk" we adopt after the first snowfall, tiptoeing gingerly while scanning the ground for treacherous ice patches.
It's time for the world to be more brightly lit, as if the sun has replaced its 40-watt bulbs with 100s. To feel the sun as well as see it, daily regaining strength until it can finally coax the flavor out of a half-dozen bags of Earl Grey sun tea.
Time for the air to be milder and softer, a ruffling breeze caressing your face instead of scourging it with ice motes.
Time to wake up to squadrons of singing birds and fall asleep to their sunset choirs.
Time to lighten up, shed the poundage of coats and gloves and scarves, to fit more loosely into the car seat. Time to trade boots for flipflops and get your shy tenderfeet back out in the open air, to let the breeze lick your toes.
Time to sit on a deck chair, lizardlike, close your eyes and soak up the heat.
Time to roll down the car window and let the dog ride with his head out, waving his tongue in bliss to passing motorcyclists.
Time to put on shorts over pasty-white legs to wash the car in the driveway.
Time to greet winter-denned neighbors as they emerge, blinking, into the sunshine. Time to leave the screen door open and let the sounds of the rest of the world back in, cars passing and kids yelling.
Time to light the grill and savor the smoky-sizzling smells insinuating through the back yards.
Time to drag out the stiff hoses and the garage-cold clay pots; time to dream about what to plant in them this year.
Time to wash up the mittens and hats and put them away, so it can snow one more time the very next day and be done with it.
Time to salivate over asparagus and little green peas, new radishes, and leaf lettuce floating in thin cream and vinegar. Time to take out the rhubarb recipes.
Time to take off the flannel sheets and replace the down comforters with light bedspreads.
Time to wipe down the clothesline and hang out the laundry to absorb the most beautiful and indefinable scent in the world, fresh air.
Time to examine the lilac bushes for this year's crop of fat buds, to see a delicate green haze grow daily along the riverbottoms.
Time to rake the boulevards free of their crusty top coat of street sand. Time to turn over matted layers of winter leaves to see the first greenness emerging from the cold ground. To be excited to see the rosy shoots of peonies fingering up through last year's sheared-off stalks.
Time to be glad you live in a place with seasons, a place where you can receive, among the genuine beauties of winter - fluffy snow on muted blue evergreens, Christmas lights and sleds - its final and sweetest gift, the appreciation of spring.
(Reach reporter Karen Herzog at 250-8267 or karen.herzog@;bismarck-tribune.com)
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