Late winter special

[vaneramos]

This is my favourite time of year. Oh, I adore the time of fruit trees blooming. And August: late summer in Ontario is just so fine. But nothing beats the season when pregnant mud bursts through melting snow. It's the time of hope. Not much longer and I'll feel the fluttering surge of testosterone.

The problem is this usually arrives in March. Here it is February 5 and 5°C (42°F) outside. Marian and I walked down to the pond and stood staring, soaking up sunlight. This is not a fluke. The entire winter has been strange. The usual bitter cold never set in for more than a day or two. Probably some more winter weather is in store, but I predict not much. The entire past year has followed unusual patterns: a rainy summer, a long, mild autumn, and ambiguous winter. This is a harbinger of climate change. Our politicians ought to stop denying it. How much can we fight it?

It's bringing pleasant weather one month early, so I might as well enjoy it. This is the moment. I'm alive and unafraid of today.

Water drips musically from melting ice along the Eramosa River's edge. A family of mallards descends to the open channel, orange feet splayed toward the black water, green heads brilliant as emeralds in the sun.