The rhythm of life. . .

I have covered some miles since coffee at 5:30 this morning and have taken care of many of those little errands that always seem to accumulate, as well as a few other obligations.  Back home now, breakfast is in order, once I decide what's most appealing.  Pizza sounds good.  The English toffee cappuccino I grabbed during my travels did help to tide me over until now.

This is a typical March day; fickle as ever.  I'm glad I dressed in layers because I have had to shed clothing along the way ever since the sun came up and added its glittering brilliance to the day.  Living in the mountains, I enjoy the contrast between home and the villages in lower elevations where traces of snow and winter are not to be found.  I love walking around my property, stepping in and out of seasons according to where the sun shines most and areas that are primarily shaded.  If you listen closely, you can hear the melting snow seeping down into the thirsty earth.  Together with the trickle of moist, meandering mini-streams and the return of spring bird songs, the rhythm of life makes its own music.  

Spring snow is unique - slushier, heavier, grainier and it smells different.  When I got home, I took the snow shovel and, bare armed and gloveless, I worked up a sweat shoving the rest of the loose, frozen stuff off my front sidewalk.  The front of my house is one of those shady spots I mentioned.  In the entire surrounding area, I think the shady strip along the front of my house must be one of the last places  where remnants of snow can still be found each year.  (Once, when the snow piles had been exceptionally huge, I got impatient and dissolved them with the garden hose.  I have also been known to shovel it all out into the grass where the sun shines.  But usually I just wait for it to melt.)

I'm not sure what the rest of this day will bring but I hope I remember to take some more moments to step outside and listen to the snow melt.

"In the cold and snow of winter there's a spring that waits to be, unrevealed until its season, something God alone can see." ~Natalie Sleeth