Snow turns to sleet, sleet turns to rain, water trickles in the gutters, and for the first time in months, thuds of thunder rattle the windows. The startled dogs bark at the forgotten rumble; we shiver in the rush of the thaw and wrap ourselves in flannel to ward off the damp.
Freed from the freeze, last season’s crumpled leaves clog our downspouts and dam the sewer grates. The cracking of ice on the ponds, heaving under the pressure of a new liquidity, keeps the neighbors awake, and out in the sleeping prairie, our weather-worn boots suck mud. Runny noses glow red in the wind, and we scrape slimy muck from cold, blackened soles.
Oblivious to our discomfort, a crescendo from migrating cranes breaks the silence of the stratosphere, and in a wan and chilly dawn, the mating cardinals begin their love songs. Winter stillness is broken.
Copyright 2009. LeAnn Spencer. All rights reserved.