Something strange happened a few weeks ago – I wished for winter. Well, not winter exactly, not for cold – raw winds – winter, but for snowfall. Not three feet high- piled in the driveway- snowfall, but the kind that dusts your driveway and lawn and makes it seem like someone sprinkled cake frosting in your garden while you were sleeping.
It wasn’t not too late for snow, admittedly, snow has been known to occur in these parts even in May. But Spring was well on its way, with the crocuses long bloomed and spent, and tulips blooming along my driveway. The lilacs too, were blooming in profusion, spreading a fresh fragrance that made everyone who passed by to stop and smell them. That meant the new neighbor (who fell in love with them and bought a few lilac plants herself) and the neighbor’s dog (which presumably showed its appreciation by not peeing on the tree).
I don’t know why I wished for snow, but when I looked out the window and caught something white and feathery falling through the air in swirling slow motion, I thought for a moment that it was a snow flake, and realized, to my surprise, that I was really hoping it was snow.
Perhaps I hadn’t had enough snowfall last winter? Just the two or three Snowmageddons weren’t enough? The two feet of snow that greeted us after a Christmas vacation and took weeks to clear out completely? The snow that made us succumb and buy a huge, gas guzzling snowthrower this year? How could I be wishing for snow?
Yet, there I was, rather disappointed to find that it wasn’t a snowflake but a winged weed – a dandelion seed that was winging its way across the window, poised to seed my garden with hundreds of beautiful yellow weeds.
After that, the temperature seesawed – first it rose all the way to the mid-nineties, then it plummeted to the forties on some days. We didn’t get snow, but we also didn’t get a real Spring.
Now it’s officially summer, but I am hoping we will still get a few days of Spring. I am wishing for temperatures in the sixties or seventies. Anything, I think, but the dog days of mid-summer.
In the fall, I am sure, as I realize winter is approaching, I will look back fondly on summer days when the garden was in full bloom.
What was it Shelley said about looking before and after (and pining for what is not)? He must have read this post.