At Last

Winter has been tough in most of the country this year. (Can I get an Amen?)  Frigid. Snow covered. And so ridiculously long.  I mind winter less as I get older, but I have hated this year's.  It snowed just a few days ago.  After a few sixty and seventy degree days--flowers blooming in the yard, me out on the town not sausaged into a million layers for the the first time in going on seven months--enough big fat wet snow fell that it stuck on the ground for a whole day.  In April.

Unconscionable.

I have asked strangers on elevators (in a town where you don't talk to strangers very often), "Why does the outside hate us?"  I was on a walk in the cold with the dog two days ago and a bundled up old guy on a bike yelled as he rode past us, "Do you know when the hell it plans to warm up?"

I'm just saying, people are angry and tired and fed up.

But I think things are finally about to change and I have collected the proof from my very own yard (and the neighbor's):

The very start of lilac blooms.  I love the tight concord grapeyness of their beginnings.

Asiatic lilies creeping out.  Right from the start they're so themselves--pointy and brash.

Is there anything more promising up north than the first prehistoric looking unfolding of Rhubarb leaves?

A hosta spear troop.

Bird's nest on our rolled up awning. (And, um, I think we need to scrub all of that down when the birdie is done.  Dirty, dirty.)

Crocuses!

Neighbor's tree. (totally jealous.)

Spirea leaf starts.

Spring is coming

Magnolia bud and apple tree bud (the apple is one of the "five trees")--starting to fatten up for the coming spring. I'm wearing a turtleneck wool sweater today. . . but the trees in the backyard are helping to keep hope alive. Magic.