The seasonal cold was startling for some. I heard many times over about how cold it was outside, about the teasing sleet, about the almost snowshowers. I watched the sky from the recesses of the stacks and felt the chill roll in the door but the sun ran off with the threat and the day went back to being wet, just wet. Easter is promising to be wet again this year. I pretty much expect that to happen here in the Pacific Northwest.
The last time I had a really warm and sunny Easter Sunday was in Southern California many years ago. I suppose if I wanted sunshine I could go there but I like it here, I like the damp, I like the fresh washed skies, I like the emerald green grass that climbs up high and brushes against my pantlegs this time of year. I like to look out from my windows at home and see glistening whitecaps on the Sound, look out and see blinding flashes of red, yellow, pink and violet rising up out of the garden beds. To see that is to know happiness. Fleeting happiness, but that's the best kind.
Two years ago I remember waiting for an Easter to come. It was quiet that Saturday, almost a proper day for a nap. The afternoon started out gorgeous, then the sky took on that steely grey hue that speaks of heavy rain coming, of sleet, of snow on it's way. I was upstairs at the time, watching the tempest from my bed, books and clothes strewn about. The air grew heavy as I looked out the window, then I felt the rain hit hard against the roof, and listened as it turned vicious. I watched as the petals of the neighboring cherry trees hit the grass, listened as the songbirds turned off their songs, watched as the sleet built up high on the window sill and then, miraculously, watched as it walked away, chased over the county line and into the next region by soft winds and sunshine. Within moments rainbows ruled.
I took a long walk later on that afternoon, walking uphill against the rain water rolling down the street and into the gutters, watching as the flower petals were washed away with the residual slush of the sleet. I remembered, while I was out walking in the cold, the warm comfort of my bed and wondered how, in the midst of spring, we could go so easily back to winter. How things could change so fast.
Easter is early again this year and the cold runs late. It's springtime in the Northwest.