Thank Heaven for Small Warm Spots

OK, I've given up looking for signs of spring.  'Taint gonna happen with overnight temperatures still in the single digits.  It was eight degrees above zero this morning in Saratoga Springs.  That's eight degrees FAHRENHEIT!  But, hey, the sun was shining, the sky was blue, and the wind was minimal, so I made up my mind to go out.  But where could I walk without post-holing through still-deep snow?  I decided to try the eastern shore of Moreau Lake, which would be bathed in sunlight all afternoon.

The lake was still solidly frozen and now mostly clear of snow.  I took one step out there and nearly upended on the slick bumpy ice.  Darn!  I should have worn Yaktrax.  Guess I'd better stick to the shore, I decided.

The shore was snow covered, but that snow was dense and crusted, so I could walk on top of it without poking through.  It felt good to just stride along without the crunch, crunch, crunch of snowshoes.  The air was sweet and the silence was profound, except for an occasional groan from the ice and the calling of crows from somewhere up on the mountain.

I was pleased to visit a patch of rare Whorled Mountain Mint and see that its seed heads had now emerged from the deep snowcover.  I plucked a few and breathed their intense minty fragrance, undiminished, it seemed, by being buried all winter under the snow.

When I rounded the bend to reach the northernmost shore, I was delighted to find whole stretches of terrain free of snow, just perfect for easy walking, with the softening earth yielding beneath my feet.

Oh, how delightful to hear the rustling of crisp dry leaves as I joyfully kicked my way through them!

The sand was as soft as on a summer's day, and so warm I could feel the heat even through the insulated soles of my boots.

And lo!  A bench!  There, I could bask for a while in the sun, bury my feet in warm sand,  and let the dream of spring waken in me again.  Aah!