The dog whines, circles, taps S.O.S. with her too-long nails against the hardwoods in the hall. She doesn't understand Saturday. (What you mean "sleep in?" I no have dis word in my language.) Neither does my six year old, the one who's been flailing and kicking me since 5 a.m. She claimed her room was too scary to sleep in, but I'm no fool. And neither is she. She knows the odds of getting carried back to her own bed are low when Daddy's still at work. She knows I'm a softy on Saturdays.
I rise, creaking, wincing. The dog, the girl, they spring. Yes, as in spring out of bed. That metaphor? Written just for these two.
I find the wall with my left hand, brace my hip with my right, pad gingerly down the stairs. You'd think I was the one aging in dog years.
I slide the door open to white-sleeved trees, flakes still falling. I want to pinch the sky for dressing the lawn in white on St. Patrick's weekend. Really, Winter, don't be that guy....
Sugar Snow: A late snow, falling after the ground has thawed and the crocuses have gotten their hopes up. Called such because the late snow gets the sap going in the maple trees.
Sugar Snow: A boon to the syrup harvest. An excuse to eat more pancakes.
Sugar Snow: A great big pain in the glute for the middle-aged mother who can shake neither the lake-effect blahs nor the bursitis from yesterday's 15 miler.
I'm prone to heavy-heartedness, to blink and find I'm buried under a weighty white snow on its way to slush. The melancholy stalks me, waiting for a run-less day when the endorphins aren't there to defend me. I wake up to snow when I was expecting a thaw. I struggle with a strong-willed screamer before my first sip of coffee. I look longingly (yes, I said longingly) at my running shoes. I want nothing more than to run away for an hour or two, to come back sweaty instead of shivering, to return energetic and hungry and smiling and like I accomplished one damn thing today.
My son, the eight year old, he gets me. He drew me a picture this afternoon. He said, "It's raining and snowing, and she's dreaming about a sunny day."
Sugar Snow: When even the heaviness and chill, the hope deferred, the three steps back from spring show themselves to have a sweet edge, a sweet ending.