This is the time of year I begin experiencing an undeniable urge for self expression. Most of the time I have no idea in what form (or forms) this urge will eventually manifest itself—it is an impulse sparked by days beginning to lengthen and a sense of things opening and greening again. Writing, making a pair of earrings, rearranging the furniture or artwork, pulling my few art supplies out of the drawer to sketch something that’s caught my eye, composing an original recipe in my head, going on a photography excursion—any or all of these things make me feel as if I’m meeting Spring at the door as I’m cordially ushering Winter out, so very glad to see him go!

Ah, but Winter stops in the doorway before Spring can quite edge her way in, and I know he has decided to stay a bit longer. I wink at Spring and she nods and turns. But she won’t be far away.

A friend emailed me today with news of his first sighting of forsythia, and a woman I know who lives on the river called to tell me she has been watching a pair of eagles for the last week as they scout (she hopes) for a suitable place to build an eyrie. The eagle cam at Norfolk Botanical Gardens is keeping watch over two eggs laid last week.

Spring will not be denied, though Winter will have his last word and perhaps a late blustery storm or two. And then, when the daffodils will no longer remain in their bud cocoons, Winter will pack his bags and fade away, and it will be as if he had never been. And I will be ready for Spring with photos and sketches and chutneys of all sorts—a hodgepodge of creativity in anticipation and appreciation of a new season, and a renewed me.