Spring has unseasonably delayed its Memphian arrival this year. We have had a sprinkling of sunny days and warm temperatures, but mostly, it has been several months of days painted with a little-varying pallete of grey, wet and cold.
Drip, drip, goes the sky, making mud of the fresh mulch and soothing the parched winter ground that still retains its brittle shroud. Drip, drip goes the sky, while impossible metal weights soar loudly, unseen behind mute cloudcover
Bubbles form on the tops of puddles and tiny sidewalk potholes fill with mirrors. Sodden and lackluster, leafless and brown. Yet. There is a whisper of new life in the damp air.
The air feels cool on bare arms, but not biting, and closer observation of leafless branches reveal blushing buds and a mist of greening fists push their way up from dirt and twig, soon to unfurl. Life is whispering to the deadened. Wet is quenching the dry. Warm is melting the gloomy chill.
Spring is coming.