Ode to Spring
I love the patch of dirty snow in the shadow of the garage.
I love the tail end of March.
I love knowing I was born then, in the midst of a snowstorm.
I love the frost heaves on Oak Hill Road.
I love that my childhood friend, Dan Frost, once puked on a Frost Heave sign.
I love sunlight till 7 p.m.
I love the smell of thawing earth.
I love the sun on my neck.
I love peepers.
I love the first day of ice-out the way I loved my Aunt Mary’s in-ground pool right after she’d rolled off its cover.
I love birds returning like they’ve never left.
I love the plink of sap on the bottom of the bucket.
I love how much work goes into one quart of maple syrup.
I love ice fishing in a T-shirt.
I love when turkeys gobble after I slam my car door.
I love the hardiness of skunk cabbage and how they bring back the pollinators.
I love May’s indecisiveness.
I love the year’s first thunderstorm.
I love that I used to be so afraid of lightning that I’d draw my blinds and hide in my bed until the storm passed.
I love how much I love lightning, now.
I love robins pulling worms from the lawn.
I love the storm that chased me as I steered my skiff full throttle through the bay.
I love Maine farm stands in spring — asparagus, rhubarb, snap peas.
I love when streams carry too much for culverts.
I love the defenseless fawn in the field and how it remains still until its mother returns.
I love the white wildflowers that grow on Amber’s grave.
I love the first blackfly bite more than the second.
I love how early the sun rises.
I love fog clinging to the Kennebec.
I love tying flies I’ll never use.
I love planning camping trips, especially the meals.
I love the cow moose wading the river but I love the twin calves trailing her even more.
I love the doe in the ditch that didn’t survive the winter.
I love Sox games on the radio, loved Castiglione’s voice and will miss him.
I love how, each spring, I imagine I’ll join a men’s league baseball team and pitch again, but haven’t, yet.
I love open windows and the cool breeze now stirring my apartment.
I love the porcupine that digs grubs in the yard.
I love fiddlehead-greens and how well they take to butter in a skillet.
I love bungee-ing the canoe in the back of the truck.
I love all the water I’ll never fish.
I love the solstice.
I love the sounds streams make.
I love setting off on adventures almost as much as I love the adventures themselves.
I love beginnings more than endings.