It rained this evening, this first rain of the year. Normally we don’t get rain at this time of year, more often receiving lovely fat snowflakes, but it was nearly ten degrees Celsius during the day and the snow stood no chance. Thus, rain.
It pattered on the awning above the living room window and left the tree branches dripping with silver. The grass all became spongy and the air was crisp and fresh. I had to go out for a walk, even if the sun was setting and it promised to get cooler fast.
I ventured out and took a different path than normal. I opted to duck down the alley behind the house and peered over the hill down to the park below. The hill is covered in shrubs and trees, gnarled and full of detritus from the winter. The tall grass lay in sodden mounds, draped haphazardly next to and overlapping with one another. The sun-bleached dead stalks were a richer blonde after the rain and soft underfoot. I had hoped to see sprouts of green, even minute shoots of grass or dandelions, but it isn’t time yet.
I continued my walk to the far side of the neighbourhood, breathing deep the moist air. I listened as robins chip-chipped from tree tops, newly returned from their forays south for the winter. I watched gophers scurry from burrow to burrow, alerting others of my presence. I saw magpies pluck things from the ground and alight on branches nearby, piling up their robust, spiny nests.
The west end of the neighbourhood is a bluff overlooking the river. The bluff itself is a marvelous tapestry, covered in grasses, wild roses, wolf willow, and saskatoons. The first flowers to appear along the hillside are pasque flowers, sometimes referred to as prairie crocus. These beautiful pink and purple blooms are fuzzy, making them so much cuter, and they erupt in force. Gulls often herald the return of spring with their plaintive cries, and many made themselves known along the river.
At the south end of the path, I momentarily startled (and was in turn startled by) a pair of whitetail deer. They aren’t unusual in this area, but these two were exceptionally comfortable being close to me, so I quietly enjoyed their silent company as they foraged for any edible bits in the grass.
I returned home through a manicured park, lacking any of the creative disarray of nature, but the ground was springy and soft and the trees dripped gently all around.
I was subconsciously aware of how the white-grey-brown monotony of winter was wearing on me, but it wasn’t until tonight that I really felt the promise of a change. In four days’ time, the temperatures here should climb into the double digits and all the moisture gently dropped tonight will accelerate a burst of fresh, green growth. Grass will green up, tender shoots will emerge from the leaf litter, and the early bees will soon have some food. Those pasque flowers will emerge from beneath the grass mounds and unfurl their gorgeous fuzzy petals. The days will get longer and the world will once again feel welcoming and warm.
I had been hanging by a single gossamer thread, my mental wellbeing kept in check by tenuous guards. I am terrifically excited for the change.
Beloved 