This April morning I woke up to 30 mph wind gusts blowing fat snowflakes through the 13 foot walk-way between my room and my parent's house. I can't remember wanting it to be spring so badly in a long time.
Of course that's probably just because I haven't really had to wait for what I consider "spring" in a long time. I realized yesterday that it'd been five years since I spent an Easter Sunday with my family on their mountain in northern Pennsylvania. Of the four Easters between then and now, three have been in south-east Tennessee, and one in south-central Austria. Neither places that have too much winter to speak of––at least they didn't when I was there.
Since I did end up back here––whether I really wanted to or not––I've decided to do some things that I'd always wanted to but for whatever reason never did. I'm going to start raising guinea hens. I'm going to plant some plants I've never planted before. A friend and I are going to start training to run a marathon.
But until it gets warmer, the guineas won't hatch, the plants can't be planted, and––as I have an odd aversion to the sensation of freezing to death from the inside out that I get whenever I run more than a mile or two in the cold––the training can't really start either.
When I was little––too little to create my own micro-civil engineering projects in the gulleys that formed along our lane in April––I always dreaded this month because of the rain. I know how the old saying goes: April showers bring May flowers, but all I could feel then was school was starting to wind down. And just as I had time to go out and play, it started to rain.
I guess that's kind of how I feel now. Only I would welcome some April rain showers. It's this snow thing that's bringing me down.
I'm ready for spring.