This time of year is my favorite. I love it so much I don’t mind the ticks.
(Like, I mean, lots of ticks.
Like, I had so many I had to strip off my clothes and put them outside. Like, I won’t tell you how many because you would never sleep again and also, I had one stuck on my butt and that was one of those conversations you don’t really want to have with your husband, but, well, let’s forget I ever mentioned it.
And while we’re at it let’s also forget that I found a tick in my bed last night…)
Annnyywaaayyy… ticks or no ticks, there’s something to be said about being the first one out there to find a patch of sweet peas.
There’s something so new and refreshing about it all, the green grass poking up out of the ground before the weeds and brush take over.
The smell of rain coming in.
The damp dirt and the birds and all of the sounds and smells of things coming back to life.
I feel like I’m coming back to life.
So I make it a point to go out in it. In the middle of the long, cold winters those are the promises we make to ourselves: If it ever gets above freezing we will not complain about the weather.
We live here and we endure this because this is what we’re promised. We’re promised the greening up. And the process couldn’t possibly be as beautiful, as spiritual and soul reviving if we didn’t fully understand what cold feels like.
Yes. We know cold.
And endless white.
And to know the white is to truly know the green.