Back in Time...

Two weeks ago, I stepped back in time.  "How?" you ask.  I flew back home to my New England roots.  Cruising down I-5 from Boston's Logan Airport toward Rhode Island, I remembered again the differences between the Atlantic and the Pacific coasts.  In New England, spring is delayed.  Sunday morning, I left Oregon with trees in full bloom, lilacs bursting in color, and lush grass already mowed countless times.  Not so, in Rhode Island.   Spring is just arriving here, creeping slowly from the ground, unsure of its welcome.  And it has good reason for caution. Last week  a heavy frost nipped the small buds of the peach trees from New England to Pennsylvania, destroying the year's crops. Like the disheartened farmer, I walked by my parents' lilac bush to see the mid-winter buds shriveled black, few survived the harsh temperatures.   But despite the setback, spring will arrive, but it will not last long. The seasons must catch up; summer's heat and humidity will offset Spring's delay and march forward. And so, the animals nibble the new grass, content.  The snow is gone.  I walk the roads, seeing more animals than people.  The deer graze in the fields; the Canadian geese bellow their intentions and then, in perfect synchrony rise over the pond and fly into the distance.  The snapping turtle meanders through the yard to lay her eggs under the deck. Confused by Man's encumbrances, she perseveres to overcome the obstacle  before lumbering toward the pond...slowly. Resting every few steps, even in the middle of the road.  

I continue to stroll down the buckled road, heaved and bulging from the frozen ground, past the rock walls, the bubbling brook. Returning to my parent's yard, I smile at the bird feeder, heated. Yes, I'm home, back in time.