Most of April has been etched by bone chilling winds and window-pelting rain. But today the sun broke through the clouds and the temperature climbed to seventy degrees, interrupting an otherwise icy, slate grey spring. All month, thick wintry clouds have danced across the sky well past their welcome. The landscape has been bare longer than normal. The dull colors of winter linger and green has been slow to break through and bloom. But today a warm breeze swept in bringing with it inviting air and sunny skies. I went to Ryerson Woods to walk or jog or whatever. I just had to be outside.
As I walked through the woods and along the river, it seemed as if spring was happening all at once. The landscape around me was getting greener by the minute. Leaves were unfurling and flowers were opening in the warm sunlight. Spring was there but it was hiding in flower buds and beneath surface soils—a bundle of latent internal energy just waiting for sufficient warmth to set it free.
As I walked, I listned my iPod. It randomly shuffled song after song into my ears. Then one song came on that seemed to capture the feeling of the day very well:
The ample rain we’ve had this month meant the river was high and the woodlands swampy.