All day on campus today, I found myself smiling at random passersby, even though the day was gray and blustery, with snow-globe flakes that swirled continually without much accumulation. We’re at that point of the year when many New Englanders are sick of snow, but I feel something different in my bones: a deep-settled sense that spring is here, or coming, and that any snow the sky chooses to throw at us is the last desperate struggle of a season on the way out. Goodbye, winter. Is this the best you can muster for your grand finale?
It’s supposed to snow all night, with up to six inches of accumulation expected by morning, and perhaps a few additional inches during the day tomorrow. Even if a waning winter decides to dump a foot on us overnight, though, we’ve already weathered worse. I find myself scanning the weather forecast with the swagger of a well-weathered wrestler who has faced this opponent before:
There comes a moment every year when, after looking Old Man Winter in the eye long enough, I see him blink. Yes, there have been times this season when a particular storm has pinned me to the mat, an icy knee planted on my back. Yes, there have been times when I’ve been ready to tap my surrender. But then I remember that although my opponent is strong, I’ve always outlasted him.
The flakes may fall and the wind may blow…but the weekend promises to be warm, and every snowstorm we weather brings us one day closer to No More Snow. Tomorrow we’ll shovel and snow-blow, but soon enough, we’ll be done with boots, hats, and coats. All day on campus today, I found myself smiling at random passersby because in my bones, I know it: we’re just around the corner from Sandal Season.