There’s nothing like a January thaw. I’m sitting next to my open patio door this afternoon, the final day in January. The temperature is a balmy 45 degrees, and the snow is melting faster than the Wicked Witch. (Incidentally, melting snow is more gratifying. And less messy.) The sun is sparkling. Water is everywhere, spilling down the windows and splattering on the deck and running in rivulets down the street. I can faintly smell the musty aroma of dirt and decaying leaves, an intoxicating perfume for Minnesotans in January.
To me, it’s the scent of promise and hope. It’s a postcard from heaven. There might be weeks of cold and snow darkness still head. But this I believe: Spring cometh.
