Today I’m grateful for the sound of mud squelching under my hiking shoes. I’m grateful to have finally found my first flowers of spring. I’m abidingly grateful to live in the woods. I’m grateful for the birdsong drifting in my window. I’m grateful for the warmth of a strong sun.
If this has to happen, at least it is happening in spring. It’s hard to be depressed in spring. If this were the depths of winter, I’m not sure I could even keep my composure, let alone stay okay.
But now we have warm days to get out into, gentle breezes to penetrate our masks and dry our icky damp faces, slushy muck to tromp through. We have the wind soughing through the trees, robins and nuthatches bringing nesting material to their sites, little rills and seasonal streams trickling down from the mountains.
The folks at lower elevations have the smell of lavender, the color of new leaves, the chatter of city squirrels.
When the only option for getting out of the house is to go outside and exercise, we could all do worse than basking in the wonder of the season.
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