Springtime

There’s an old song – even older than me . . . so old that Gene Autry sang it back in the 1930s – titled "When It’s Springtime in the Rockies." In the song, the narrator is sitting alone by a cheery fire, looking out at the snow, and remembering a springtime long ago, when he was with his true love in the Rocky Mountains. He talks about the flowers with their "colors aflame," the birds that sing all the day, and the first maple leaves putting on their sky-green.

Just to be clear, Dan and I live in the Rockies, and next week the University of New Mexico, where I work, will be closed for Spring Break. However, this morning, when I got in the car to go to work, it was snowing, and the clever (irritating) morning guy, on the radio, was playing “Let it Snow, Let it Snow, Let it Snow.” On that drive to work, I saw no flowers with colors aflame, no sky-green leaves, and heard no singing birds. In fact, on part of the commute I saw almost nothing, because of the low visibility.

From my parked car.

Near the entrance to my office building, looking back toward my car. As you can see, I'm always one of the first ones to show up in the mornings, come rain or snow.

It’s been a long winter here in New Mexico, with more snowy days than I remember seeing in the previous six winters that we’ve lived here. I do have faith that Spring is near, though, as my drippy nose, sneezes and watery eyes assure me that the pollen count is on the rise.

I have a tentative “date” with a friend, to go on a photo shoot next Thursday or Friday, but if the weather doesn’t sweeten up, I’m afraid I’ll have to cancel.