This week I went walking, looking for signs of spring. Instead of following a familiar route, I wandered through a couple of neighborhoods where I did find crocus struggling up through a bed of dead leaves. Then I left the residential area and followed a small dirt path into a large field with a lake in the distance that I recognized. Good. I knew how to get home from here.
In the middle of the field I discovered a sturdy old post crowned with a Fireball Cinnamon Whiskey bottle. Dangling from the post was a crushed pop can, a rusted out oversize tin can and a piece of fabric that might once have been a hat. A long string of white tape marked with horizontal lines every foot or so was firmly entwined with the wire that held the whole thing together.
It didn't look anything like spring. It was silly and artsy and I liked it. It was good for all seasons.
