So, we were out walking the dog yesterday. It was a balmy -22, and the wind was frolicking around our ears. Did I say we were walking? I meant we were goosestepping through snow up to my knees and Nick's calves. Sometimes being married to a tall guy is a real drag and this is one of them. I was wondering why I had left mes anciennes raquettes looking decorative in the corner of my office instead of strapping them on and negotiating the drifted in path through the field. We abandoned the field for the road, and had to laugh at ourselves. What with the wind chill and the exertion, we were a good deal hoarier than when we started out!
Nick's moustache and Casey's whiskers looked like some errant elf had gone postal with a bedazzler. But I noticed something else too. Its a thing that happens every year around this time. No matter what the temperature, no matter what the windchill, no matter whether there is sun or leaden cloud, around January 25th, we notice that there is running water in rivers and ditches. THAT is the first sign of spring. You can have your robins (they're here by the way, hiding out in the bush), for me the inexorable flow is the true harbinger. It defies my limited understanding of physics. I'm sure there is a geeky explanation having to do with the insulative properties of snow and the angle of the sun, but I choose to think of it as a miracle.