This morning I managed to leave for work somewhat on time around 7:15. I walked to my car; opened the driver’s side door; and set my bag, mug, and shawl on the passenger seat. Then I sat there with my door open and legs dangling to the sidewalk, pondering. The air was wet but not humid, and my skin was tantalized by interchanging warm and cool air streams. It was 45 degrees and one of those partly cloudy mornings that hid the sun, making it a candle flame in with clouds breaking in such a way that the sun’s backlight looked like smoke rising and catching on the wind in an upside down checkmark. The eastern horizon glowed with gentle pink and orange while the rest of the sky was still a dusty, pale violet. This cast a twilight blue over the earth, like I was looking through a blue tinted camera lens.
It was the air that pulled me out of the car. I locked my door and walked up the lawn. The snow was gone. The ground was firmer, though the grass was still brown. When I reached the backyard, two dark-breasted birds fluttered away from the corner gutter. Here, too, the snow was gone except for a small line near a forgotten garden. The lawn was bumpy, which startled me because I had grown used to the flat landscape that snow and ice created. I could feel small mounds through the inch-to-inch-and-a-half rubber soles of my snow boots.
The lawn was quieter despite twittering from nearby—though hidden—birds. Snow may lie as a blanket, but its bright white also lifts the world. Without it, the earth sinks to its former level, pushed further by the weight of rain and ice. My backyard looked crumpled but resting, waiting for warmer spring temperatures that would allow grass to grow and lift once more.
As I walked around, I noticed changes and details that had been buried. Bricks trailed in two small mounds across the garage’s little wooden doorframe. The door had somehow shut. And beside me lay a small half-rotten pumpkin—probably from Halloween or Thanksgiving—preserved in its decay beneath the snow.
I wasn’t there long, just enough to soak it in like desert lizards soak in moisture through their skin. Then I walked back to the car and drove to work, expecting rain in the afternoon.
I love your desert lizard comparison. It's like a reverse image or something and it really stuck with me. I had the same feeling this morning drive to work, but I didn't get to indulge and savor my brief moment until I opted to take my hour lunch at the driving range where I ate nothing and instead enjoyed that awkward dampness as I struck ball after ball in the wide open field with the interstate in the distance behind it, so far that I couldn't hear the cars rushing by.
ReplyDeleteIt's so interesting to see the backyard landscape beginning to thaw!
ReplyDeleteI love the images of the objects emerging from their snowy blankets. The snow melts to reveal hidden secrets we have forgotten about. I think it's exciting to see what has rested frozen and invisible these past months. I was really grateful for last Friday, which was warm here in Syracuse. Even the muddy grass made me really happy. Seeing things emerge after weeks of hiding was exciting and rejuvenating. A week ago, I had a little plant stand fall off my balcony. Sure enough, the melting snow revealed its whereabouts to me. I wonder what else is hidden out there (under the new, thick layer of snow).
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