28 March 2013

white magic

I smelled spring today. Whenever I smell spring I think of the crocuses that so suddenly appeared in the flowerbeds outside of the dance studio each March. Robins and crocuses are a much better promise than anything from a groundhog. This never-ending New England winter has finally begun to drip off the trees and patter through the drainpipes and the parking lot is an archipelego that requires careful footwork. I look forward to the rainy season but admit there is something significant about the city the morning after a blizzard--when I half expect to hear the bells of the White Witch's sleigh as I hold my breath to keep from polluting the silence. 

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