And Finally The Thaw

It's been a long winter in the mountains. Spring is slow to come, if at all. Sometimes we skip right over the season and head into Summer. But drip-by-drip the thaw has happened. Last week, I put out the bird feeders out again. One morning I woke up and realized I was hearing a familiar sound, dormant for the last few months-- the unique chirping song of a robin. I stayed in bed for a bit, my eyes closed, just listening. It's a sound that always takes me back to my childhood, listening to the morning song of a robin as it digs for breakfast, waking up early, taunting me to get up too.

The other sure sign of spring is when the deck, attached to the back, south-facing side of our house, is finally free from the layers of snow. That's when I start closely monitoring the thermometer, watching the red line of mercury for any movement of hope. When it finally reaches fifty degrees, I turn to my dog and let him know, "It's time, Blue."  I grab a blanket out from the chifferobe and place it on the warm boards of the deck. I pull on shorts and a tank top, ease myself onto the blanket and sigh with pure contentment. The air may still have a slight chill, but the heat-absorbing wood beckons me with a promise of warmth and sun.

I know what the doctors say about too much sun. I take precautions, but heaven help me, I can't resist. With all my blonde hair, and fair-skinned cautions thrown to the wind or the sun as the case may be, I lay out and absorb the sweet comfort and restoration of the rays.
I'm not alone in this quest for solar comfort after a long, cold winter. Blue pit-pats after me, flopping gratefully on the hot wood with a grunt and groan of satisfaction. After a bit of sunning, he gets up and heads out to the grass for a long, satisfying back scritch in the dry winter grass. It's like spa day for him. He rolls on his back, legs kicking gleefully and twists and turns for all he's worth. I watch him and envy his freedom. I long to join him, rolling in the grass, my legs and arms flailing about, but I'm not sure which of my neighbors might be home, watching, becoming alarmed at the sight.

When he is done rolling, he heaves himself up on all fours and shakes wildly, loose bits of dry grass and leaves flying off of him. I brush the rest off. "Silly, Dog-Dog," I tell him gently. His fur is warm beneath my fingers. And his eyelids droop as he wanders towards the deck for more of his nap. My lids are a bit heavy too. Just a few more minutes of sun, not too much, I promise. After all, we've waited a very long time for the thaw.