How do you know when spring is here? Perhaps it is when the calendar says March 22. Others are waiting for something else, something in the air, or around the corner — like Frog thought when he was just a young pollywog. Is it when the crocuses or tulips push through the earth? Or is it when you hear your first meadowlark or red-winged blackbird? Are you sure spring is here when the dark, brown crown of Black Butte finally has no dusting of snow? Or it might be when you walk out the door for the first time and forget your jacket.
How do you know when spring is here? Is it when you sleep with the windows open for the first time? Or drive with the windows down? Or pull out your flip-flops from the deep, dark recesses of your closet. Perhaps it’s when you have to close the blinds to read a book in the evening. Or you see a crow with a stick in its mouth flying to build its nest. Maybe it’s when you look at yesterday’s photograph and are shocked by how white your skin is, just recently bared for the first time from its winter coverings.
I remember when I was pregnant with Elsa. She was due to arrive any day and we were closing in on the third week of March. I was walking the dog in the early morning. The daffodils were blooming in a little patch of grass off the railroad tracks. I saw those sunny, bobbing heads and knew spring was here. I can remember that moment so clearly. A few days later, my career as a mommy began.
Here is what she drew today.