By: Lora Wimsatt
The windows are open. They’re closed. Sweatshirts on, jackets off, mittens on, T-shirts off, boots on. It’s cloudy. It’s sunny. It’s raining. It’s snowing. It’s cloudy again. What do you mean, there’s a tornado watch?!?
This crazy winter and this crazy spring were enough to send all the woolly worms and old farmers (almanacs included) into a tailspin.
March roared in like a lion, and went out the same way – no lambs in sight – and April got off to an enthusiastic endorsement of the old “April showers” adage. All that remained to be seen was whether there would be any May flowers.
Obviously Spring had lost its way, and it wouldn’t be a stretch to say I was feeling the same.
I kicked forlornly around my backyard, noting the piles of dead leaves that had banked up against the fence last fall, pretty much smothering any hope that my daffodils would somehow struggle through in time to greet the Easter season.
I kept one eye on my granddaughter as she bounced across the yard, making sure she didn’t get too close to the muddy area under the tree where the grass has never really gotten off to a good stand, and was even more straggly than ever after a brutal season of snows, ices and other assorted winter miseries.
I shivered, hugging myself against the chilly breeze, and watched worriedly as Briley flung her bare arms in the air as she reached the far end of the yard and turned to sweep back in my direction.
“Aren’t you cold?” I called out, taking a hesitant step toward the house, where her jacket lay abandoned on the kitchen table.
I didn’t quite catch her reply but it sounded a lot more like “Wheeee!” than “Brrrr.”
The wind blew harder now, snapping the flag in the front of the house and sending a few loose leaves skittering across the patio, ever closer to the pile against the fence. Just one more layer between my daffodils and the sun.
Not that the sun was doing its part either.
The sky was a watercolor grey, the same dull grey from morning to night. It wasn’t accurate to say “sunrise” or “sunset.” I supposed the sun was behind those clouds somewhere, but all it was doing was distinguishing day from night, and not very effectively at that, in my opinion.
“Let’s go in,” I urged, reaching out my arms, but Briley veered out of my reach and away across the lawn again, shrieking with laughter as she went.
Feeling clumsy and awkward, I lumbered off in pursuit.
Her response was to laugh harder and run faster.
“I’m going to get you!” I called out – optimistically.
Briley scampered away, but she has not yet mastered the art of escape. Almost immediately, she was cornered, and I swept her up into my arms. She flung her arms around my neck in an unreserved embrace, then wriggled quickly out of my arms to walk beside me, hand in hand, back toward the house.
I was so focused on my small victory that I didn’t notice when she unexpected halted, jerking me back a step, and then her hand slipped out of mine as she crouched down to peer at something on the ground.
I bent over and looked to see what she had found.
It was a little flower – I don’t know what – pale lavender, pretty and bright even on this gloomy day. Maybe it was even brighter because of the gloom.
Briley reached out with a tentative finger to touch the flower, then looked questioningly up at me.
“Pretty,” I said. “Pretty flower.”
I paused for a moment, debating. I almost said, “Let’s pick the flower for Mommy,” but I didn’t.
“Let’s leave the little flower here,” I said, and Briley happily nodded. “The little flower will show Spring the way.”