After a miserable rainy Tuesday and a foggy Wednesday morning, the sun has broken through and is casting its welcome rays on us. Mounds of snow grow smaller and smaller with each passing hour, as crocuses and daffodils begin their annual ritual of peeking through still-brown leaves of grass.
Since I can’t ride my bike until this broken arm heals, I set out for a walk around the neighborhood. What a joy! Squirrels scurry across lawns, pausing to dig for long-lost treasures, while furtive chipmunks hasten into drain pipes when they see me approach. Ducks dive into the pond, their tails high in the air as they search for food. A stately blue heron stands at the water’s edge while a gaggle of geese mills about in the distance. I marvel at the tenacious brown oak leaves clinging to tree limbs, wondering how soon new growth will push them off. As more snow melts, I cross trickles of water following gravity’s path to the bottom of the hill.
Because I have to walk slowly to avoid jarring my arm, I have time to laugh at the ducks’ antics and take deep breaths of springtime air. When I feel well, it is all too easy to take such delights for granted. Perhaps this time I will slow down long enough to make being present in the now a lasting habit.