We’ve had an odd few days of weather. Daffodil and crocus bulbs have emerged, my tulips sprang back from last year, and we had some warmth and sun that made us think the cold, wet winter was behind us. Then we were slammed with a week of wet, soggy, cold downpours. A few snow flurries. A sun break. Another set of flurries, sleet, rain, wind. Cold, wet, cold, wet. One day the rain came, sideways. The sole of my favorite leather boots cracked. I took them off, hung my soaked socks off their side, and placed them in the path of the ancient yet blisteringly hot wall heater in my office. I had the heat so high I nearly put myself and everyone else in my office to sleep over the past few days. I cannot shake the cold.
The haphazard, willfully outrageous weather kept taking me by surprise. I put on the closest thing I have to a pelt and have worn it daily. I was convinced others wouldn’t notice. Yet I ran into the same group of people multiple times over the last few days; they noticed. It’s hard not to notice a vest imitating a sheepskin rug. It’s covered in thick white fuzz and it boasts a hood that transforms me into the perfect garden gnome. I still haven’t taken it off. I tell myself it looks great, but the truth is I’ve come to rely on it as a psychic buffer against the disappointment of the lingering damp cold. I’m done with this winter. But Winter isn’t heeding my chirrup-y little complaints. Instead I’ll stay wrapped in the rug until I’m good and ready to emerge into the kind of Spring I’m in need of.
It’s not just the weather outside my windows that has changed almost hourly. My inner world has had moments where warm sunshine and crisp daylight seem to last longer. But then the temperature drops. Coldness comes, leaves, returns. I am tired and soggy, as I imagine the shrubs and grassy fields feel. Sunbreaks emerge, but are almost hunted down by the gray blanket of clouds that hold more moisture than you think fluffy cotton balls could contain. Buckets of rain fall. My emotions and relations are hurly burly, and there must be a way I’m creating some of the storm without knowing it. The next soul to crack was my own, pelted by the unexpected, sideways rain. There’s no umbrella that will ward off a horizontal shower, nor provide protection from wet, cold feet.
Disappointment has soaked me, through and through.
In just a few days the vernal equinox will relieve the fear of unrelenting Winter. All things pass, even disappointment. I have bulbs and buds, reserves of growth, waiting for the right time to burst above ground. Moments of wintry cold will give way to new hopes and dreams, replacing the ones just dashed.