Winter Wondering

Because yesterday was probably the last semi-warm day we will have for a while and the sun was making an appearance, I decided I would too. And under a February sky, I walked up to the old ball fields on Cedar Hill Road and cut through to the cemetery, as I often do.

As I walked, under my feet, flowers bloomed. I am surprised I noticed. They were so small, less than a quarter of an inch, and yet as brilliant a blue as any glorious morning glory.

And with the blue, a bit of purple henbit was also showing, and yes, even the clover was coming out.

It was quite a show for the first week of February, and I worried, not about the tiny field flowers, but the early blooms on peaches and apples and pears, and even more about the strangeness of the season and whether it was an omen of more weird weather to come.

The trees are dressed for March. Some of the roses have not yet lost their green. My mums sit in pots, not frozen and dead but just resting, a dull green at the base.

Bluebirds are everywhere, eating at my suet feeder, singing to me from leafless limbs.

And then, last night the rain came and quickly turned to snow.  

The grass was dusted and the buds chilled.  The world turned gray for a day, but even in Missouri, it was a lame excuse for a snow storm. Colder weather is on the way, but not to stay.  Winter had its chance, its last dance?

I enjoyed the taste of spring the warm weather through the worst of it, but there is something about the trip round the seasons, with all of them intact, even winter, that feels safe, that keeps you from wondering about the the weather, about the world, about what lies in store.

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