Spring?

I wore shorts outside today for three minutes.

There is less snow in my lawn.

I am not currently drinking tea.

The neighbors have tucked away their Christmas lights.

Could it be (almost) spring?

Yes, I did plant some stuff last weekend in a fit of optimism. Then we were blasted by arctic air and two feet of snow. Some humble-Eskimo-pie for this upstart gardener here in Massachusetts. But I am so ready, so achingly ready for things to be green and a little warm again.

True confession: I just sat on my behind for fully 20 minutes trying to decide which picture of last summer's garden to put on the desktop of my computer. This is pathetic for two reasons.

1. I gave up "e-idling" for lent, even though I'm Jewish.
2. The real reason I want to look at this picture is because I don't believe that anything will grow out of my lawn again after this frozen recession winter.

This is the picture that's currently on my desktop:
Taken last September 9. Not an overly exciting picture, but like childhood pictures, saturated with sentiment and funny, poignant-only-to-me stories. Like, ha ha, that time when I accidentally cut the main vine of my favorite squash plant. Or that night when I set beer traps for the slugs, and then sat vigil for hours to rescue them before they fell in.

Ah, summer.

What silly things will happen in this season's warmth and abundance? That's a happy reverse memory. To contemplate what will be when the sun returns, and I can smell the earth again for longer than a brief thaw.

Tonight when I returned to my house after a wonderful dinner with friends (thank you, Liz and Jason), I stood on my porch and leaned into the breeze, quiet all around. It was one of those moments when nothing belongs to you, not even yourself, and you see your life from 30 feet up and a million miles away. I looked up at the moon, which was hidden behind the fir branches, and had the funny sensation that I was seeing it from below -- that I was seeing it from a particular vantage point that didn't define the moon, only my direct experience of it right now, in this life, in this body. I looked down at the two front gardens, which are covered only partly right now by snow. I tried to imagine them as they will be in July, absolutely realized green glory. Everyone on my block is asleep, I decided, judging from the dark windows. And the wind was so soft, and not cold, really.

This is my life. I feel so grateful.

And so ready for spring.