Winter's Discontent

While others are experiencing the beauty of spring tulips opening and mowing their yards, we are still trying to wiggle free of the cold grasp of winter's fingers here in Colorado. Snow is on the ground and our breath is on the air when we venture outside. We are on the cusp of Spring, and I an anxious to put both feet on solid, warm ground.

It is still too cold to do much outdoors, even when the sun is out. The snow from this week's Spring blizzard is beginning to melt but makes the yard muddy. My window shades are pulled to the ceiling this morning and I am curled in my rocking chair reading Jodi Picoult. Rio is lazy too. He has jumped to the couch and is laying along the top of it, his chin resting on the window sill. He looks out over the driveway and front yard. His nose quivers constantly, as if he can smell through the nose-smudged glass. His eyes dart from one side of the yard to the other. There, a squirrel. Over there, our neighbor ventures out for his mail on a melted driveway that was too difficult to navigate yesterday. His Broncos sweater cap is pulled low over his ears. Rio's eyes follow it all. He is squinting into the morning sun. The sun's warmth starts to make him sleepy. In a minute he is slumbering, his chin still resting on the drool stained window sill, his whiskers bent against the window. I imagine he is dreaming of summer; chasing butterflies, stomping through streams, scratching his back against the scrubby gamble oaks. Death Cab for Cutie's "Grapevine Fires" plays on the stereo. I place my book in my lap and allow myself to drift away too. Rio wakes up long enough to slide down the couch in a sleepy heap. He gets comfortable again, falls asleep, the sun bouncing off his fuzzy head, lighting up the spiky fur that sticks up around his ears.

For now, we must be content to wait for Spring's embrace. I close my eyes again and drift away, thinking of the buds on my aspen tree waiting to burst open, of the bulbs in the hard ground waiting for a warm rain so they can pop open and push life to the surface. We are like those seeds, still sleepy, wiggling slowly out from underneath winter's cold hand.

Over on the couch, Rio starts to snore.