Spring fantasies

I will step outside wearing a skirt. The wind will kiss my bare legs and I will turn my face up toward the sun…and I will smile. I will breathe in freedom. I will walk to my mailbox and I will not be worrying about bringing in more wood or shoveling more snow; I will not care when the oil truck comes next or whether there is salty sand in the rusty bucket by the door. I will not wonder how cold it will be tomorrow. Or tonight.

Instead, I will grin at my forsythia bush and wonder if I could hug it. I will wear my rubber boots and I will revel in the squish of mud and the decadent splash of an unfrozen puddle. I will march to the front of the house—a path now liberated from snow banks—and I will plant my American flag in its holder. I will glory as it ruffles in the wind. And I will step, slowly, through my flowerbeds, squatting down every few steps to revel in the green tips of spring-blooming bulbs, like tiny fists up thrust, proclaiming that we made it. Screw you, winter!

I will be as joyful as a daffodil.

Coming soon to a Graychase near you.