I stood at the window and looked at the winter wasteland in my backyard. Broken limbs litter the ground and piles of snow have turned into puddles of water waiting to freeze over. There are ruts by the driveway and my sidewalk is crunchy with busted branches and rock salt. My bird feeders are empty, the squirrels are mad, and I am tired of food from a crock-pot.
I am officially over it.
I am tired of bulky coats and missing gloves and boots that have worn their welcome. My phone blows up with winter advisories about ice and snow, and weather warnings about freezing temperatures and flooded roads. It’s too cold to go out and too dreary to stay in and it’s all becoming too much for one winter.
Will the sun ever shine again?
Weekend plans have been cancelled because of road conditions. I carry blankets and boots in my car and leave it running while I run in the grocery store to grab milk and bread and wine. My toes are cold and my fingers are white and the fireplace seems to make it all better.
That’s where the wine comes in.
My husband sensed my restless mood and followed me to the window, both of us looking out at the same view. The wind was blowing and the trees were swaying and our back yard is sloppy and uninviting.
“Now that the time has changed, it won’t be long before this changes too. The wind is blowing from the south and every day, it will get a little warmer,” said Randy, trying to ease my winter funk. “Just you wait and see.”
“The yard is a mess,” I grudgingly pointed out.
“That’s alright,” Randy replied, staring at the broken branches. “One of these days, the days will be longer and the limbs will be gone and I will be buying lawn fertilizer. We will be sitting on the porch and you will be complaining about how hot it is.”
“When spring comes, I’ll get out the wagon for the broken branches and haul them to the burn pile. I’ll rake the leaves out of the flowerbeds and sweep the rock salt off the driveway. I’ll clean the grill and get out the seat cushions for the patio chairs. I’ll bring the fire pit out of storage so the first warm night, we will be ready,” Randy told me, his voice full of promise.
I was feeling better already.
On the tail of this never-ending winter, suddenly, I can see the spring. I can almost feel the warm breeze of change and sense the bushes budding with promise. My husband’s words brought memories of warm porch nights with something grilling on the grill. The bushes have been freshly trimmed, flowers are planted and gutters have been cleaned ready for those spring showers.