Postcards from the edge of spring

I would have turned back when the sleet hit my face on my traditional Easter constitutional but a stiff wind and a stiffer upper lip propelled me forward in an optimistic search for spring.
Two hours later I limped home, frozen right hand clutching my Twittering cell phone (#thegroundhoglied), post-brunch yoga pants soggy with snow and beloved mitten lost somewhere en route.

Spring in Wisconsin can be miraculous. It blows in swiftly on a breeze so fresh you have to pause for a moment to taste it. You close your eyes to let the sun warm your face and when you open them you notice, for the first time, the sweet tree buds, bright yellow daffodils and fresh green grass. It happens that fast.

What I learned yesterday on my stubborn tramp through town, though, is that you can’t go looking for spring. It has to find you and neither calendar date, nor length of day, nor crack of bat can hasten it.

Join me in a sadly necessary mug of hot cocoa as we peruse these postcards from the edge of spring,  a tip toe through the  tulips mounds of dirty snow.

This was the view out the window during our Easter brunch. We were able to munch away, completely unconcerned about any impending swim suit season, so that was nice.