And then the first robin was sighted and their cheerful evensong caught our ears once or twice. Still, it was only a spark of hope among mounds of snow. Until . . . early Sunday morning I woke up to the sound of --yes, it was rain. The first rain I had heard around these gutters and dripping down my window. Oh, the joy! Our first real rain. . . and then, rumbling persistently--thunder.
How welcome that sound was to us! I love thunderstorms anytime, but when I haven't heard one all winter, it is especially invigorating. When I looked out the window a bit later, the yard was bursting with joyous robins, half a dozen at least, hopping and singing merrily in the grass patches, now broadened and made greener by the rain.
As I stepped out onto the rain-washed pavement, the whole day seemed glorious. The air was fresh and breathed with hope and birdsong. I felt like the Pevensies seeing winter break after a hundred years. It was such a blessing!
We had our window open for the first time, which is one of my favorite things ever, and behind them you could see the robins, bouncing to keep warm on the dark hanging branches.
With this flush of spring-hope (hardly to be called spring quite yet) I give myself full permission to dream about spring and summer, and heat and life, and color and fragrance and gardens. . . And to watch Nigella's 'forever-summer' cooking-shows. These would only make me jealous during real winter--now it's just sweetly tantalizing. . .