Discussing the weather is not small talk to a mailman.
Though it is mid-March, I was startled to see the small, barely-there sprouts poking up out of the earth on Friday. The early perennials finally began to rise out of the ground, after two warm days.
Not, mind you, consecutive days. Not this winter: they were each followed by very cold days, the temperature once dropping forty degrees overnight.
But it was enough, enough to make the crocuses and hyacinths and jonquils stretch their green fingers skyward.
By Saturday I had seen my first blooming crocuses, purple beneath a south-facing brick wall.
The fact that crocuses generally bloom weeks earlier does not at all dull the joy at their appearance.
I have always loved watching the seasons unfold; it is one the best things about working outside. And I have especially loved watching spring come.
But never have I been so eager to see green shoots peeking out of the cold earth as this year. It has been, I hope, the Winter of a lifetime.
I am hungry for green, starving for Spring.