In Like a Lamb

Narcissus pseudonarcissus L., "daffodil"

I don't usually like it when the weather is unseasonably warm. March tantalizes you with a springish morning, then--bam!--you're caught in a blizzard wearing your new flip flops. I'd rather get the most I can out of my winter wardrobe and then pack it away for good.

But today's sunny skies were too beguiling. I opened every window in the house to let spring in and winter out. As the breezes whisked away our long hibernation, I felt them carrying out some of the wintry parts of me--the part that worries too much, the part that doesn't always want to give my best, the part that drinks inordinate amounts of Diet Coke.

Dicentra spectabilis, "bleeding heart"

The boys have been hearing spring's siren call, too. Scotty wants to go camping. Every morning Thomas has a new question heralding brighter days. "When can I stop wearing socks?" "When will we eat outside again?" "When will winter be over?" Even Johnny has taken to wandering out the back screen door.

So this morning I followed him outside. He sat in the swing with the sun on his face while I finally stowed away the Christmas garland that has littered the back patio for weeks, cut down last fall's sweet peas, even dug around in the dirt a little to clear the way for the hollyhocks. The water trickling from the neighbor's raingutter made me think of C.S. Lewis's The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe and the great thaw of Narnia upon Aslan's return:

"A strange, sweet, rustling, chattering noise . . . It was the noise of running water. All round them, though out of sight, there were streams chattering, murmuring, bubbling, splashing and even (in the distance) roaring. And [Edmund's] heart gave a great leap (though he hardly knew why) when he realized that the frost was over" (114).

Today I felt like I imagine my perennial garden feels, full of strength and energy. I lifted weights, ate broccoli, did laundry, walked Scotty home from school, tried a new recipe, painted my toenails (okay, I actually haven't done that yet, but the night is young).

Liriodendron tulipifera, "tulip"

I haven't forgotten that March's lion has yet to appear. And tomorrow I may or may not do the ironing. But when those cold days come, I'm taking them as a guarantee that warmer ones are on their way to stay.