Wednesday, February 2, 2011

I see the blizzard of 2011, but I hear Spring coming.

My mom sent me a phone pic of the snow in her backyard this morning.  Mom and dad live a few hours  south of Chicago.

She says the snow is about 3 feet deep with drifts up to 6 feet.  Reminds me of 1967 when I was 4 years old.  That blizzard made walking down the sidewalk an absolute adventure!  Dad had shoveled the snow in front of our house and mom took me out to walk along the tall edges.  It was like Dad was Moses and he parted the red was white snow, and his name's not Moses.

But, I digress.

So much of my art is based on my childhood memories and joys that the Blizzard of 2011 seems appropriate for the STC Blog.  This photo tugged at my heart strings. I remember that view from a 4 year old's height.  It was magical. It was childhood in snow. Which made it just right.

As my parents relax through  the 2011 blizzard (they are both retired and loving the idea they don't have to go anywhere during the mayhem), I'm sitting in 70 degree weather.  Today has a 30 percent chance of rain, but I don't see a hint of it on Doplar Radar. I'm wearing shorts.

I actually have the air conditioning on to keep the humidity out of the house. I'm creating and listening to all the birds through the closed windows. There's a point in the Spring when the birds take a different tone in their song.  And that's when Spring starts progressing to show itself.

I have friends arguing we still have cold snaps to deal with, and maybe so, but the birds tell me it's not for long. They sound sincerely ready to get nesting.  The song birds are letting me know we aren't long for our Florida winter.  The Muscovy Ducks from the lake by our house nested behind a bush near our home.  They say it's spring.  The racoon that raided the nest and ate all the eggs had another message.

But again, I digress.

As a Floridian mom's photo should have sent grateful chills down my spine that we moved to St Pete.
But as a child of the 1967 Blizzard I'm a bit jealous.  I'd love to sit outside near the tallest drift and maybe just for a second, be 4 years old again.

To those in the thick of it, be safe, be patient and know the snow becomes the water that feeds the flowers in the spring.  I'm a tad jealous today of all your white.

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