Five days.  From winter's harshest blast of this or any recent year on Monday, to spring gorgeous sunshine on Friday.

I thought those bushes were gone
forever.  They were crushed to about a third of their normal height by the weight of the snow.  I expected bent and broken branches that wouldn't recover all summer.  I expected to have to pull them all out and start over.

But just five days later they're springing back,  as green and strong as if they lived the winter in gentle care in a green house.

Does the pressure make them stronger?  Does the soaking moisture invigorate brittle limbs?  Is it just a spring gift to a hopeless gardener who wasn't going to figure out any way to save them anyway?

I revel in the gift today.  The  gift of recovered shrubs, of the warmth of spring, of sunshine glinting off daffodils just beginning to  bloom.

It feels like break-up, Alaskan style.  The vaporizing snow is sinking almost visibly, shoveled piles dissolving from feet to inches in a single day.  Icy water streams over rocks and streets and sparkles in the sun.  It's not quite warm, but not that cold.

Birds materialize from everywhere. They hop from icy branches to sidewalk to steps.  They mercilessly mock the cat, quivering at the window swishing his tail and chittering in the back of his throat.

It's bike in the shop day.  Summer tune-ups in the midst of the snow.  My fingers are a little stiff and cold fastening it onto the rack.  The strap on one side is broken, so I tug the bungee cord tight to hold it secure.  It feels so good to pull it down and roll it into the shop, to talk with the technician about repairs and trails and rides to come.  Another stop and promised new strap and a season of riding is ready to begin.

March madness blizzards; basketball, white-outs, and a over a foot of snow.  Not quite the spring break I was expecting.  The sun is high and clear all day, but the wind is sharp and soft streaming snow is everywhere.  It's a peaceful day.  I let the cat in and let the cat out as he struggles to understand that nasty stuff on the deck.  He shakes his feet angrily and huddles shivering into a sliver of sunlight, but as soon as I call him back in, he's glaring his open sesame stare right back at the door again.  

After a day of playing with recipes and clearing piles of clutter, I'm relaxed but a little restless and ready to brave the cold for the chance to be out.  The park is quiet, but not quite deserted. A few brave runners, some college students taking fun costume photos, and ducks by the dozens gliding through the icy lake.  My feet are cold and my knees are damp.  I've tramped through soggy mud to reach the waterfall and knelt in the ice for the perfect picture of the setting sun glinting off snow covered trees.  It's a perfect joy of imperfection, of accepting and embracing a change of hopes gifting a beauty unknown.  

It's the first tease of spring; sunshine, warm breezes and seventy degrees. The trail is nearly deserted. Crackly brown leaf strewn and surrounded by skeleton trees, it's leaches winter stress into the wide slow-flowing river.  It's one day gift, a single day off, a single day's hint of warmth to come.  It'll be back to forties tomorrow, I'll be back to work on Monday.  But spring break's just one week away, a hint and a promise of spring itself not too far away.