Winter Dreams

I've been dreaming lately - daydreaming that is - of warmer temperatures, and of different sights, smells, and sounds than the ones I'm used to.  

Of crocus poking their noses out of the snow.

Even though short-lived and killed with the ice storms of April, their brief interlude breaks the frigid curse of winter's icy breath.

It's hope that a gentler, kinder season will soon be upon us.  

My nightmares of course are of winter.  Unbending, unfeeling, monochromatic with its white, gray and black metallic sounds of howling, whistling, and shushing.  The house shudders under the weight of the harsh winds and heavy snow.  And my mind wanders again.

The purroo, purroo of mourning doves.  As early as April their courtship rituals grace the angle of our roof-top.  Their song wakes us in the early hours while the sun is still rubbing its eyes.  I can hear them in my mind's eye.  I can see them, sidling along the top of the roof, the males trying to get closer and the females shying away, playing hard to get.  Yet the chicks always seem to appear anyway.  And they learn the song their parents sing.

And the last sign of spring - a flash of fire-orange red hopping across the lawn, stopping and standing perfectly still, head cocked.  Then the head bobs and the beak disappears deftly into the soaking earth, lifting its prize to the light of day: an earthworm who dared venture too close to the surface away from the spring run-off.  The triumphant hunter swallows - his cheery chirrup is the ultimate in spring sounds.  Soon his will be joined by other voices - peeping insistently for him to give up his prize to feed their bellies.   

The smell is in my nostrils.  It is a life-from-death smell.  Dead leaves from last fall, rotted under the snow.  Dirt left behind as the snow melts - each snowflake leaving behind a small speck of dirt - adding to the topsoil.  Little piles of animal leavings, covered over in layer after layer of snow - now revealed.  And the barest hint of light green under it all.  The promise of new growth.  

Even though I know it's only a dream - a warmth spreads over my tired spirit.  It won't be very long.  Not long at all.