It’s an -if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em – kind of day here in northern New England.
Rainy. Cold. Gray. Breezy.
It is Spring, after all. And every year I forget just how this season dilly dallies its way into becoming. Yes, I see daffodils. A tulip or two. And the lilacs are on their way. It’s my own impatience I struggle with. We need the rain and clearly, spring knows just what to do without any input from me.
Anticipation is nothing if not hope.
There’s beef stew in the crockpot. A soft blanket nearby to burrow in. Candlelight on the counter. An extra sweater. And a hot bath before bedtime is in the forecast.
Today may not be the day I hoped for, but it’s the day I have. I’ll enjoy the day and count blessings like raindrops.
And if the pansies on the porch can be patient, so can I.
one hopeful year 