In the midst of one rainy day after another, spring is hovering, waiting for a few rays of sunshine to burst onto the scene with an exuberance that only spring can do. The tell-tale signs are everywhere.
Those beautiful daffodils out along the county road looked promising, until the rain beat them into a yellow pulp. The lilac bushes are full of budding leaf pods, they are a weakly green just waiting for a shot of Vitamin D to unfurl and darken. The flowering cherry trees, such iconic beauty along the city streets of Portland and dotting the countryside, are trying their best to announce the change of seasons. Yet even they are dropping their pink petals early, covering the muddy ground in cotton-candy colored blankets.
The weather forecasters are the topic of many mealtime conversations, as if complaining about them will make the sun come out. It wouldn’t surprise me if the TV news crews have ramped-up security for fear of retaliation from those who are just sick of the forecasts.
It’s close but not here yet…yesterday there was a two hour window when it did not rain at all. The county road was dry for the first time in two weeks. I only wore one layer of raincoats to do the evening chores. It was a good day, until I looked out the window while cooking dinner and saw it raining, again.