I want to daydream of spring.

Snow blankets our backyard and the golf course beyond. It is beguiling but also cold and foreboding, not warm and easy like a lovely day in May. So, I’ll contemplate hosta shoots poking up through the ground, their green and purple tips an extravagant delight, a wondrous discovery amid the decaying remnants of last year’s growth.

Come spring there will be teases of color: pinks and reds, pale green – so many shades, dizzying at times – yellows, lavenders and purples and scrumptious bright whites, all beneath an azure sky and a glittering array of budding trees and shrubs. The heartbeat of new life, new growth, fresh air, fresh beginnings. Promise. Longer days. Extended daylights. Warmth.

But, while I savor my daydreams, I know there is awhile yet to go before we can bask in spring’s beauty. Winter teaches us patience. Our hearts quicken though in rapturous anticipation.