There has been a huge mound of dirty, icy snow on our deck for months. Often, my daughter will go outside and tell me she has some “work” to do. Her “work” consists of crunching through that mound of snow with her boots and a little green shovel. [if !supportLineBreakNewLine] [endif]
Last week, she noticed a bird building a nest in the tree that hangs over our driveway. “Mom, look a bird! That means it’s going to be summer soon!” She shouted.
Yesterday morning, when we walked out onto our deck, she started to scream. I turned around quickly, assuming she fell down or something. I caught a huge smile on her face, as she pointed at the snow pile.
“It’s almost melted, mommy! It’s all gone! That means we can go swimming soon!”
She’s a girl who knows what she likes and as much as we try to live in the moment, we are DONE with these winter moments. We are ready for blue sky and sunshine, bike rides and swimming pools.
The light is hanging around later in the evenings and the Spring Equinox is quickly approaching. The end of this winter season is so close, we can almost taste it. We have planted our vegetable garden seeds and are patiently waiting for sprouts to appear. We planted a lot of bulbs this fall, too. And now, as the ice and snow melts we peek around for any signs of life.
I read recently that ancient Celts often wore masks at spring celebrations. These masks were meant to scare away winter demons and spirits. Mask wearers would parade through the streets with lit torches; these events were often thought of as winter’s funeral parade. I identify with this. I’d love to host my own funeral parade for winter. I don’t even need a mask; my pale winter skin and perpetual grumpiness are scary enough on their own.
This afternoon, we had about 90 minutes of sunshine and 55-degree warmth. My daughter and I snuck over to our local arboretum. We splashed through puddles and turned our faces up toward the sun. We stopped to check for signs of growth in the gardens and squished in the mud. As the clouds rolled back in, we piled back in the car—soggy and smiling. It was our own little funeral parade, and momentarily,
our winter masks disappeared.
Kelsey Hart is a Celtic Way Friend & Contributor