The old grey chenille sofa has been around longer than my kids, and along with the crumbs and matchbox cars and springs that have long ago sprung, it holds many memories. It held me and caught my tears as I was nursing my newborn on it in the pre-dawn California light watching two jetliners fly into Gotham and change the world forever. While pregnant with the following two babies, I slept many a hot, uncomfortable night in it’s squishy softness.
This morning, it held nothing dramatic or special- just my curled up body and my chin resting on the back as I gazed out into more gently melting snowfall. March does change things. It’s been snowing lightly all day, but it’s not sticking. It’s slushy and sloppy and melting as it hits the ground. After weeks of deepfreeze, this is a welcome trend, and I idly watch the fat floppy flakes tumble and disappear.
Glancing down, poking through the thick barky loam finally visible through the melting ice crust, I see tiny bright green leathery shoots of the earliest crocus. My heart lifts and March becomes a reality. February is gone, and spring is coming… despite the cold, the slush, the interminable winter… like all things, change is the constant, and spring is coming.