Rocky Mountain Thaw

When I was in college, each Spring there was a spontaneous day that we simply felt in our souls, not contained by any calendar, something between the End of Hibernation, Awakening, Opening Day… Whatever you called it, it was that day in which Winter, while perhaps not over, had lost its grip. Spring was now inevitable. At the End of Hibernation, in every college town, students hung out in small groups on front porches of rented houses drinking beer that was designed to break the ice and not the budget, the smell of bbq started to waft down streets that had been ice-covered just weeks before, music and laughter spilled through screen doors and from rolled-down car windows. It is the Christmas of the Vernal Equinox, where everyone loves their neighbor, calls out greetings to strangers as though to long-lost friends, and the sun is warm and life is beautiful again.

It’s been a minute since I was on a college campus on that perfect first day of Summer’s Coming. But this weekend in suburban Denver was the cul-de-sac equivalent. Garages opened. Vehicles were washed in driveways. Bike tires were pumped up and seats adjusted for winter growth. Sweatshirts were piled in front yards, discarded as the sun rose higher. Children cried and yelled in backyards and laughed and then cried again and were called in by parents whose ears still judged neighborly seemliness by winter’s inside volumes. Dogs searched for bunnies on their suddenly longer, more frequent walks. And the smell of bbq started to waft down streets that still have just enough snowmelt to create a constant trickle to the city grates at the bottom of the hill.  

There is something about those first days of warm weather, when it’s not just a fluke of the jet stream but the beginning of a seasonal trend. Life gets better when we can count on the sun bringing back to life a string of daffodils and tulips and tree buds and greening grass. Life gets better when we can wave to our neighbors and wear light jackets.

I’m tired almost all the time. Sometimes I’m tired plus something hurts. Back, knee, heart. For a lot of people, the past week has held some disappointment, some anger, some fear, in varying degrees about varying things.

A great thing about Spring in the air is that it’s so much easier to turn off the constant barrage of politics and Corona virus warnings and … that’s really about 94% of it. To turn off the noise and sit on a patio and close your eyes and feel the sun growing almost too warm on your face and forearms and remember that despite everything, there are green sprouts of tulip shoots popping up where there was snow on Monday. And that even if it snows again next week, there is a small army of children’s bicycles that are ready to go as soon as the sun comes back out again.

Spring is now inevitable. And I am grateful. Still tired, but grateful.

I will go to work tomorrow with a little weekend sunshine still stubbornly remaining, splashed across my winter-pale cheekbones.