Small Signs Which Mean So Much

It’s been a long winter.

In truth, the length of winter has not changed since man walked upright out of the primordial ooze and declared supremacy over the land, but that’s what we hear, every year about this time, as February grudgingly gives way to March in the Norther Hemisphere, “Man, this has been a long winter.”

Such a subtle change, two or three minutes per day, the Winter Solstice behind us, longer days ahead, hardly noticed if you aren’t paying attention, but there’s something about it, you know, those couple minutes mean hope, hope that the rains will end and the warmth of spring will spread over us like Grandma’s loving comforter.

The sun, when we see it hereabouts, is slightly higher in the sky, maybe a degree or two, don’t seem worth mentioning but damn, there’s something about it, a quickening of steps on our walk, a lighter spirit, hard to find the words but real nonetheless. And the rains, damn those rains, their severity lessens as January heads towards February, again subtle, but appreciated for sure by those of us who believe the Ark most likely had its origins here in the Pacific Northwest.

During the deep darkness of December and January, Winter holds its icy breath, but as January slowly transitions to February, an exhale can be detected, a slight warmth expelled, and there is hope.

The dogs, they don’t mind the rain, most times, Toby looks for puddles to lay in, Maggie soldiering on, her thick fur a natural insulator, and I find myself jealous at times, wishing I was young again, not caring, running and splashing and shrieking with joy, coming home as a kid, soaking wet, mud-splattered, Mom taking one look at me and telling me to “strip at the door, young man, don’t you be tracking that mess in this house,” but laughing when she said it, and holy damn I miss that woman, love personified she was.

You can see it in the people we pass. Heads are no longer bowed in misery but held higher, a sign of positivity if I ever saw it, and smiles are genuine, not guarded. People take the time to move beyond small talk, the fear of drowning behind them, a willingness to actually converse emerges, and it is welcomed by extroverts and introverts, for there are only so many times you can talk to yourself, in January, before you begin to worry about your sanity.

Their steps are slower-paced, no concerns about the weather, taking their time as they walk their dogs, or just walk themselves, enjoying the scenery, looking closer at the wonder of it all, as though seeing it for the first time.

You have to look closely, squint actually, to see them, but they are there, buds on trees, buds on shrubbery, here a bud, there a bud, everywhere a bud, bud, and squint a bit harder and you’ll see green, the color of revitalization, the color of growth, yes, the color of life.

A young crocus raises its head above the compost and mulch, a lone sentinel, or a scout perhaps, his job (her job, their job) to alert the others, yes it’s safe, no it’s not, come follow me if you dare, and two doors down we see another.

Robins are out in full force, a lovely sight, a lovely sound, and the squirrels, chattering away, sprinting from limb to limb, did they winter, seems I’ve seen them every single day of December and January, evidently gathering nuts and supplies for the winter that never arrived, a stockpile for next year, perhaps, and I’m reminded whenever I see them of “whistle while you work,” the old Disney song/movie, those damned squirrels always happy doing their chores, we should bottle that enthusiasm up and inject it into every American worker, me thinks, eternal happiness in the workplace, a nation of Stepford Clones, and my mind is on overdrive as the walk continues.

Anyway, squirrels drive Toby nuts but Maggie is nonplussed, what a wondrous word that is, nonplussed, a magical mystery tour of etymology if you ask me but then, no one has.  And soon it will be March, and longer days still, ever-slowly rising temps, might even shed a layer of clothing by April, and won’t that be a reason for celebration.

Next time you’re out, look for the signs.  Where one appears, there will surely be more, and sooner, rather than later, the dark gloom of winter will rise from your psyche, replaced by the hope of spring.

P.S. Please join me on Wednesday, March 6th, at 6″00 p.m., on Facebook Live for the very first “Storytime with Bill and Maggie.”  We would love to have you visit us while I read short stories and excerpts from my novels.