cocoa

I want to break-up. I’ve had it. It’s April and I’m ready for a separation—from winter.  Honestly, there must be distant lands when spring unveils herself in a graceful melodic dance. Not so here. Our spring is a stripper’s tease that taunts us over and over. 

 I’m almost happily married to winter in December, the magic of fresh snow, new mittens and early dusk. The bloom is coming off the rose in January. In February I give a seasonal reconciliation all the effort I can—taking snowy walks, finding a rink or lake to skate on, drinking cocoa and making a lope-sided snowman with my granddaughters. 

But now enough is enough. By March I’d done my best. The dregs of winter have stretched out for too long. It’s time for that divorce. Winter agreed to a trail separation, and the teasing started. There were warm afternoons with our glorious chinook arches stretched across the sky. The sun was warm enough to melt snow and ice and let water trickle and flow, while we strolled outdoors in shirt sleeves.

We all let our shoulders down, taking deep, healing breaths of the sweet air. Gardeners returned to their favourite nurseries and planted trays of tomato, pepper, snapdragons and marigold seeds under lamps on the dining room table. In a bucolic daze I stashed coats and boots in the back of the closet and exclaimed over teeny tulip leaves poking out of the wet earth. I listened to the magical sound of water trickling off rooftops again. 

And then slam … We woke up to fat falling snowflakes covering the brown grass and sidewalks. Up and down the streets neighbour’s were scraping car windshields and shovelling sidewalks and shouting out, “Should have known better, tricked again.”

Shockingly, (but not) the temperature dropped to far below zero. How could I still be surprised by this fickle liaison. 

An appointment with a relationship therapist might help. They’ll council me that breakups take time. That I should watch for small signs that I’m doing ok. Ah, signs – lets wallow in the signs—the grocery stores are selling tulips – cheerfully bright, orange and yellows.

There are tight green buds on the lilac bushes, and lady bugs crawling out from under fall leaves. In the evening my solar garden lights are finally charged with enough daylight to twinkle on.

And new birdsong wakes me in the morning. I won’t foolishly tempt fate by putting the boots away. They’ll be in reach all summer, when I’m going barefoot to water the garden and smell the roses. At last I can start a love affair with spring.