On Saturday, we had one exquisite hour of hope: the sun shined and the temperatures rose above freezing for the first time in way too long of a time.
Everyone (and I mean, everyone) abandoned their snow encrusted homes on the hill and ventured forth to points east and south.
We were among those souls, stopping in town for provisions: the library, the pharmacy, the grocery store–and coming across handfuls of neighbors moving from place to place. We were like a village of ants. Not so much joyful or even relieved, as we were urgent about capturing this moment.
The clouds moved in later that afternoon, as did the rain, but before then we made our way further south, heading to a place with less snow and a larger art museum, where we came across yet another handful of neighbors who had done the same.
Then came Sunday. Frozen and cloudy and winter all over again. I checked the weather: more of the same on Monday. I re-read my daily inspiration: “Be in a devotional relationship with your body,” and I hatched a plan to do just that.
Monday came in dark and cold and heavy, but I followed through with devotion.
I headed south, alone, in my car, with my backpack and my journal.
I’d been to the Butterfly Conservatory at least once every winter before, but this time would be different. I wouldn’t just stroll through and then depart. I would stick.
I spent 3 hours on the same bench among the butterflies and the flowers and the warm moist air.
I sat. I drew. I read. I wrote. I even napped.
There was the sound of water. Of toddlers toddling. Of birds peeping.
There were scents of life unfolding.
And there was fluttering.
Constant fluttering of magic, color and wonder.
And then it was Tuesday. Today. Brilliantly sunny. Still frozen, but with temperatures climbing, promising true spring.