There was an alien substance on my living room floor this week.
I studied it intently, puzzled; deep down I had the feeling that I had seen something exactly like it once. Only that occasion had been months and months ago. The puddle-shaped outline was frustratingly familiar, yet it had been so long that I just couldn’t quite place it.
I noticed the substance was coming through the window and actually beginning to spread. That’s when I had my moment of blinding revelation. I did know what this was!
It was sunlight.
Officially in Canada it has been spring for some weeks.
You could have fooled me.
With the plummeting night time temperatures, the downpours of ice rain, the sporadic snowfalls, the cutting, constant wind and the relentlessly grey skies every day – well, it’s felt like mid February for months.
Why just the other day I glanced out my window and spotted a robin, bundled in a wool scarf and toque, and the Mrs., loading three blue eggs into the back of a minivan with “Returning to Florida” plates on it. A couple of Canada geese were trying to hitch a ride.
I’ve put my winter coat and ear muffs away, then taken them back out of the closet again, six times. My lawn furniture remains tucked away behind bags of Ice Melt. The heating bill has not gone down.
I recently stumbled on to a website calling for the lynching of Wireton Willie and Punxsutawney Phil…and I didn’t report it.
We need spring. We really do. Physically and psychologically. It’s time already. After all, only spring can trigger those special, experiences that we dream of in the deep, snowy depths of winter.
We crave the chance to once again spend hundreds of dollars buying flowers, with exotic names, that last about two months. We yearn to spend long sweaty hours scrubbing barbecue grills, picnic tables, driveways and patio sets. We eagerly anticipate the ritual of discovering the holes and brown patches under the melting snow where skunks and grubs have torn up our lawns.
We thrill to the return of Kamikaze mosquitos.
Frankly, many of us are simply anxious to swing our golf clubs without wearing Arctic parkas; taking chip shots, not chips of ice off the greens.
Spring, it’s time to spring!
(I even found myself thinking nostalgically of shad flies last weekend. Scary.)