Evidence of Spring?

 

I looked high, through several windows, but the evidence of spring drawing near is not as apparent as it seems to be in many other places.  

The nubs of buds are waking up slowly around our house.

So what testament toward the transformation from one season to the next do I see? The long, dense icicles are gone; little tiny, spiny ones have reformed since the temps dipped down again over night.

The wind is howling; precociously pretending to be March. (and boy oh boy was it cold and biting as I hung my head out the window to quickly capture the icicles!)

And...

 

Then I looked low. I noticed the ice melting on the driveway. A sure sign that spring is inevitable, even if we still have a few months to wait for actual blossoms here in NH.

 

Honestly, I'm quite content with our minimalist palette and the coziness of winter indoors, the frost diamonds that return each morning to grace my window.  No, I’m in no hurry at all to say goodbye to this beautiful season. 

For me this is the middah, the soul-quality: sameach b' chelko, contentment with what is.  

linking to:

The photos that accompany today's text were actually from February 9th, but the same yo-yo weather applies, and truthfully, I've been scanning the trees and there's not a whole lot of visible change happening on the branches. Yet, I know, deep down beneath the surface sap is rising. The days are growing longer, brighter, and with it my sap seems to be offering a form of renewal too! Perhaps the light is signaling my pineal gland to wake up my neurons? Or perhaps it is the steroid infusion from last Friday, or the Tysabri leaving my system (almost 7 weeks since the last infusion) or simply that it has been 6 months since my walking started to become more difficult and 5 months since the flu shot incident, 3 months since we stopped the Gabapentin and my body is healing from all of this. Maybe it is a combination of all of the above. At any rate, I am walking better (used a cane at pt yesterday), and the desire to move is more present (I have practiced some very gentle yoga for the past two days). My nerves are remembering how to communicate with my muscles. My muscles are remembering how to listen. There is no way to know how much more improvement to expect, and I don't like to place my heart in a basket of hope...I have learned NOT to expect; instead I'm just grateful every day for what I can do, grateful every day for the slow, stillness that is a valued part of my life too; a gift from multiple sclerosis. 

Grateful. 

Content.