Rain

52*, 80% humidity, SSW 17 mph wind, light rain, FLOOD WARNING, FLASH FLOOD WATCH

All the world, except for in shady patches, was revealed yesterday. Expanses of yellow lawn, sidewalks, and roofs were uncovered from their cold crispy blanket and mounded piles of snow. Then the wind began, late, near the midnight witching hour when the coyote crosses through the yard on his nightly hunt and when the deer graze in the neighboring fields, and not long after that, in the infantile hours of the new day, the first splatters of rain add themselves to the puddles of snow melt to stream off roofs, through yards and streets, to add themselves to overflowing ditches, down drain pipes into sewers, or into marshy land where geese have overwintered.

Could this be spring? I am not fooled. March came in like a lamb and I know the conclusion of that particular wisdom, so fitting here in northwest Indiana. And besides, there is not that smell of spring yet, the one that wakes you early some morning and you just know. You have to leap out of bed, pull on a pair of old jeans and a sweater, and go outside to open the shed and grab your spade. A force more invigorating then fresh coffee. When I wake to that, it will be spring.