Ugly Spring

 

It's ugly spring in Iowa – that awkward time of transition between winter and true spring.

As temperatures climb, Mother Nature begins her seductive striptease of cold-weather attire. She slowly raises her snowbank skirts, the lace-melted edges sullied by sand and dirt, to expose more leggy lawn each day. Her tired sod is mottled brown-gray by matted grass and moldering leaves, lined by varicose trash veins, and pocked by dog poo. 

Still, this suggestive glimpse of green provides an illicit thrill to our winter-weary core. We respond instinctively, desire overriding better judgement.

But Old Man Winter is a persistent suitor. The wind carries his whispered forget-me-nots, an icy finger caressing the nape of our necks. We awaken to find his frosty love notes written on windows and clinging to bare limbs.

We know Mother Nature is fickle. We know she will abandon us, lured away by the beauty of a diamond-flake flurry or fleeing the ire of sleet and ice. Her come-hither warmth beckons, only to be replaced by a (literal) cold shoulder. Her sunny smile gives way to the glower of gray clouds.

And yet we respond with child-like optimism, baring arms and legs and feet – sweatshirts replaced by tank tops, pants giving way to shorts, flip flops kicking aside boots. We endure her seasonal petulance, knowing that soon (Soon? Soon!) she will be ours.

Already, snowmelt giggles softly as it trips over ticklesome, pebble-lined gutters, sprouts foolishly poke forth from the warm shelter of foundations, parkas are relegated to the backs of closets and shovels are replaced by rakes.

Spring – true Spring – has begun her courtship and we are helpless against her charms.