The month of March is leaving its muddy footprint on the land and the fresh breath of spring is already beginning its job of blowing away the cobwebs of winter.
Little kids are rediscovering the joy of jumping in mudpuddles and water is running down the streets conjuring up childhood memories of paper sailboats and black rubber boots.
Isn’t it wonderful?
We have waited a long time for the cold and bitter season of winter to end as we helplessly watched the numbers of COVID cases soar even as the temperatures plummeted, and the cold penetrated our very souls.
But now we have a vaccine rollout plan that is steadily inoculating us all with a spirit of optimism and hope. That being said I was so very disappointed not to be able to visit my sister who is in a nursing home in the area and has had not one, but two vaccines.
“She should be fine,” I thought to myself as I cheerfully spread my own wings of hope in preparation for a visit only to have them dashed against a seemingly impenetrable brick wall of rules.
“Not yet,” I was told in no uncertain terms by the girl at the front desk. I have always frowned upon arguing with any messenger whose duty it is simply to deliver the message, but still I found myself rather belligerently demanding “why? I don’t get it.”
“I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t make the rules,” came the reply, falling like a dash of cold water on my hot head.
“Of course, you don’t,” I muttered, giving my emotional self a mental time out.
Anyway, I hope it is sooner than later, I can plant my physical self right beside her physical self and we can have a good, old-fashioned simple visit just like we used to do in the good old days before COVID-19.
But even as the world waits for the vaccine to take effect, there are signs that the season out there is changing.
This much I know to be true.
I know that March is not even halfway done, but already I have seen for my very own self these signs.
My friend and I were out for a walk the other day and what did we see flying high above us but a Canada Goose. It truly was a sight to behold.
“It’s early,” my friend muttered to himself. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite this early before.”
“It’s good,” I replied. “It’s been a long, cold and lonely winter.”
Yesterday, we saw another Canada Goose flying solo. Looking up at the lone bird silhouetted against the azure Alberta sky my heart soared with gladness so much so that I forgot to look down.
Consequently, I almost missed the pussywillows.
There they were their brave little grey buds barely visible in the roadside ditch.
And so, we captured a few sprigs and brought them home and there they sit on my windowsill, a soft, and gentle reminder that seasons do change.
And also, a reminder that love, hope and pussywillows are perennial, always, and forever.
Treena Mielke is a central Alberta writer. She lives in Sylvan Lake with her family.