Today I inhaled damp loam; its scent rich with the promise of young grass. The sun spread its lemony yellow wings, and a warm breeze hummed through the trees teasing them out of their winter’s sleep. Thoughts of spring began to germinate inside of me. It was time to put away my winter words.
I admit that part of me is sad to fold away my warm wooly words. I know I won’t speak or write of winter cold for a while – blue cold that makes my nose run and my feet frigid. And I will miss it, like I will miss waking to the first frost of the season, its crunch under my feet a sound all its own. The surprise of the first snowfall will fade along with the struggle to warm an ice covered car.
I will take the cozy down comforter from my bed, and hang my wool coat with the knitted hat and matching scarf in the closet, but not before I put my mittens in the pockets. Under it I will place my fur lined boots. The soft flannels, quilted jackets, and bulky sweaters I love will be pushed to the back to the closet because it will be awhile before I need to bundle, layer,swathe, cover up, drape or otherwise pen winter words.
The family hearth will stay dark because the fire won't need to be kindled, nor will we gather around it sipping hot chocolate and mulled cider wrapped in fleece Snuggies and throws. In the kitchen, beef stew, chili, and soup disappear from the menu replaced by lighter fare.
For a mix of seasons, I put away my winters - redbud, blackberry, and dogwood too. I will write of spring and summer and bask in those halcyon words. But when the apples are heavy on the bough and I inhale the tang of burning leaves, I will dust off my winter words and begin again.