How do you know it’s Spring in Colorado? It snows. And it’s freezing on Easter. It was a wet, heavy snow. More like rain that just decided to be colder, and more spiteful. Like a scorned- dare I say- woman getting her one last gesture in revenge before she was finally chased out by the new love. It was cold and uncomfortable. The sort of cold that, when coming out of the movie theatre late Friday night and having to scrape windows, made me think seriously of moving to the desert. I even dreamed about it that night, hearing over and over in my mind “it’s a dry heat.”
Nonetheless, it is Springtime. There are certain signs everywhere and though it was cold and likely will be again later this week, I know I’m not the only one who’s impatiently waiting for warmer days. And I’d be lying, a little, if I said I didn’t at least like this weather to an extent.
Spring weather is very unique in Colorado. And though I hate, hate, hate to be cold, the erratic nature of this transition in seasons fits me. It changes it’s mind, seemingly on a whim (though always carefully calculated behind the scenes) and when everyone thinks it’s become boring and predictable, it throws something new into the mix. Though, I assure you, if I were weather, I’d never throw in snow. It’d be more like sunshine. And beach chairs. I digress.
I suppose this is why the desert will have to wait. I’m somewhat accustomed to this changing of seasons. It’s timing and it’s ability to surprise from one day to the next is comforting in a way. It’s weather that reminds you to soak up the moments, it reminds you of how to live. It’s weather that makes you draw every breath a little deeper, to let those mental pictures of smiles on faces and shadows on the ground sink in a little longer. It’s the kind of weather that makes you sit on the porch in the late afternoon, hoping to absorb a little sun in anticipation of upcoming getaways. It’s the kind of weather that makes you snuggle up one evening only to run through the grass barefoot and toss a ball around the next day.
Most of all, it has promise. Promise of newness, of warmth and of more. Promise of summer bar-b-ques, outdoor concerts and patio lunches. And really, in my mind, even if I have to endure some window scraping, there’s still nothing better than knowing the best, what I love and look forward to most, is yet to be.
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