Foretaste of Spring

Running to and fro this afternoon, in one enterprise or another, I could not help but notice the beauty of the day.

It is neither too hot nor too cold. There was the faintest breeze, just enough to move the air without being blustery. The sun shone bright against a brilliant blue sky, with just enough intermittent puffy cloud cover to set off the dazzling contrasts of the heavens.

With all the grim gray and bitter Winter days we have had of late, it warmed my heart to feel this gentle kiss of a Spring soon to come.

I know that I looked forward to these cooler climes when the long turgid days of late Summer still crept along, but I think that I have had my fill of them.

The earth has slept for long enough, and now the ground is ready to burst forth with green life. The earth groans to be tilled and sown upon, to give of its yield by the providence of the Good Lord’s hand.

I am ready for bare-footed and iced-tea days, of open windows and late orange-pink evenings with friends gathered ’round.

Though, to the eye, the joyless landscape yields no faintest sign to which the hope might cling, amidst the pallid desert of the fields, it is in Winter that we dream of Spring.

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