Two years ago I was running through the park with the boys on a cold, wet late-winter day. I was just about to the hill when an old man stopped me to show me the snowdrops blooming on the side of the road. They were the first signs of spring, he said.
I ran on, filled with hope and the triumph at having “survived” another winter. That man never knew what a service he did for me, or the connection I felt to him at that moment, as a co-survivor of an especially cold and snowy season.
Yesterday when I was out putting in my morning miles, I noticed some little patches of green on the side of the road and thought maybe I could do the same service to others as that man had done for me.
So here it is: the first signs of spring.
February is over. We’ve cleared that hurdle. I know it’s not going to be all blue skies and sunshine from here on out, but at least there’s a light, and we’re getting closer to it.