Here in Southern New Hampshire, Spring has begun to arrive. The ground has begun to thaw as daylight hours have grown. The large snow piles have dwindled. The buds on the trees have begun to grow, and Daffodils have begun to push up through patches of soil. In a few weeks the world will come alive after a long, dormant Winter. We sit here, patiently waiting, but everywhere I look I see the signs that Winter has begun to lose its grip.
Every year, as the snow melts, the streams become torrents. Water rushes down hills being carried by streams that dry up mid summer. Yet in Spring these tiny little streams lead to the lakes and rivers, causing them to swell and rise high above their banks. This water rushes past damns and bridges, and suddenly water is everywhere.
Yet the melt has been slow this year. It has allowed us to enjoy its intense presence. Many people wish the snow would melt at once. This is when the problems start, roads become unbearably muddy and the rivers breach their banks. You never want a fast melt here, because it leads to nothing but trouble. I remember Alstead, the way the river had torn through houses, destroying peoples lives. I would much rather have a year such as this, where it happens slowly. The type of year where Spring arrives quietly and without incident
The slow melt allows for reflection. I was in love with this Winter, but my heart is ready for Spring. As I stare at the open river for the first time in months, I suddenly realize how ready I am for a change. I yearn for the long summer days, when we leave Winters chill behind.