I admit a great sense of loss when the snow melts. I do not look forward to spring. I have not had my time of rest and introspection, I have not replenished my reserves and deepened my roots, and already the warm sun and temperatures in the 50s are coaxing me out of my depths. I feel strung out in this weather. Overwhelmed. In a few weeks the crocus leaves will shoot out from the brown lawn--already iris reticulata are an inch tall. And now, too, seeds must be started in the basement. It was only a little over 2 months ago that the garden had bright fall colors and glistened with the memory of a hot, dry year which still draped itself over me like a heavy shadow. And now spring? Yes, we will dip and rise, but like last spring the season feels early.
I'm not ready. Go away. Come back winter, seal me in with your cocoon of snow, give my full measure of the seasons so that I am whole again, truly ready for my spirit to embrace the good green changes. 55, you are like eating frosting out of a can before dinner--you make me feel empty and sugary. Let me earn you, spring. Let me earn the first pasque flower with all my soul. Teach me patience yet again, a lesson I need more and more. Hold off. Hold me at a distance. Be still.