a spring tradition

There is something on the wind, and something in the blue of the sky, may-be there is snow on the ground, and nary a crocus has popped through, nor are the buds swelling up threatening to pop open and turn into fresh green leaves.  But it's coming, something tells me change is coming. 

It's going to be Spring, and soon I hope, even though there is snow, and the nights are well below freezing, if the sap is not rising in the maples, it is still rising in my soul!  And even before one can turn the first spadeful of garden, it's time to go for a long leisurely walk.

When I was a kid, my Dad and I would go for long walks down the hill almost into town and then onto a dirt road that curved around the hill and finally brought us to our house.  The air no longer smelled cold and metallic, a sweet and grassy scented breeze pushed us along as we climbed up the hillside the jackets so necessary when we left the house were now burdensome as we walked under the midday sun.
Some days were perfect for kite flying.   And some days were just for looking for flowers and listening to the birds sing.  There were days when we looked for the Easter Bunny, or any bunny for that matter, and on those days when I came home there was often a foil wrapped fruit and nut egg in the old cigar box, that I kept my treasures in.  Some days we foraged for leeks and watercress, wild asparagus and  a few things that I can no longer remember.    And sometimes we were just glad to be outdoors again.

My Dad is gone, the road we walked along is gone, the meadow is now rows of houses and even part of the hill is gone.  I walked a different dirt road with my son, and I hope he will walk still another road with his child, enjoying the gentle beauty of spring.