Waking up after hibernating all winter; I feel the warmth of spring’s sun on my face. The last of the snow is melting into the soggy ground, or in my case, the fall leaves I didn’t bag. Naked after so many months blanketed by snow, the leaves give off a pungent, earthy smell.
I’m reminded of the farm with its old, red barn. There’s nothing like a good barn smell, of weathered wood and mouldering hay, of dark, musty corners and well-used machinery.
I rake up leaves and twigs into little piles to bag later. I might regret not bagging today but I just want to rake. I rake, enjoying the feel of muscles in my arms and shoulders working rhythmically back and forth.
I wrestle with a trumpet vine, as big around as my wrist, a gnarled, overgrown stalk that needs pruning. I make some progress but in the end the trumpet vine wins. I go back to raking.
Everywhere I look there are signs that spring is here. Plants are starting to poke their way out of the ground, robins are singing, and shrubs are beginning to bud.
After a long, cold winter, I welcome spring and all the beauty it brings. Life is good.