Feeling It

bare treesHey the winter is over, storm or no storm. That old snowpack is beginning to look like the dough the pizza-man tosses over his head so as to fill it with air.

Look at these winds, that are now so strong. Out my window I see the large trunk-like limbs of an oak swaying like the branches of a willow.

Between the winds and this new strong sun,we’re all getting kind of giddy.

At the dry cleaners’ the other day, a woman I have never met turned to me as we waited in line. “I know you!” she cried. “You’re the one whose sister sings opera!”

I am in fact not the one whose sister sings opera and said so as kindly as I could.

“Well anyway, I know I’ve seen you at those summer concerts in the courtyard of the Episcopal Church!”

Wrong again, but why say so when this late-winter thaw brings such high spirits?

For sure it was high spirits that moved the tiny girl I passed at the town pond to bend over and toss her little skirt clear up over her head, revealing a paradise of ruffles on the seat of her little undies.

“Hayley, put your skirt down right now!” cried her mother. “Why would you even DO that?”

Silly question, when it seemed to me she did it because the geese were also doing it at the thawing margins of this chilled champagne-bucket of a pond. Down went their heads into the water. Up came their feathered bottoms, as gloriously arrayed as young Hayley’s ruffles.

All I know is that something is coming and it isn’t more winter, in spite of today’s snow… In spite of the fact that the Great Blizzard of 1888 that brought snow to the sills of the second-story windows began on March 11th of that year.

Even that old oak tree feels it. Day and night now, I watch its great limbs, stirring, stirring the sky like vast wooden spoons.