Why Hello Spring

Spring is here, and I feel as though I can finally release the breath I didn’t know I was holding. Living where I do, winter stretches on like an overbearing in-law, coming up with endless reasons to spend “just another night”. But now, the grass has made a turn for the better, bringing life back to the seas of burnt prairie. 

The city is ugly in early spring. The melting snow strips itself down and bares forth the dog shit and garbage we had forgotten to clear. Sure, the sky is full of hopeful blues, reminding those of us on the ground that this ugly duckling stage will only last for so long.

I think I’ve been impatient this year.

The light winter, with little snow, made me antsy for green grass far earlier than usual. All of February, I was chomping at the bit to ditch my winter coat and boots, and now I feel such relief at shedding my layers and letting the sun hit my face. 

However, underneath those layers of winter wools and waterproof acrylics is still an edge of anxiety. A little loose thread, I’ve been worrying through my fingers as I watched our one and only winter snowstorm make landfall. 

Already, fire bans and fire warnings are being issued across the province. Again, it seems inevitable that Alberta will burn. 

When I was a kid living out on the farm, Mother Nature felt like this real tangible thing; a person that if you could just sit her down and talk to her for a moment, you’d be sure to get a sympathetic downpour every once in a while. Lately, however, she has felt more feral, like a dog abandoned in the shed and starved of affection. I’ve tried pleading to the dog’s owners—tried to get them to do something—but all anyone ever wants to talk about is the cost of living. I’m too scared to go in there myself and cut her loose. I mean, what if she bites?

Instead, I pace around the yard, sucking in the smoke-free air while I can. Eventually, probably in July or August, I’ll be glued to my phone, watching for air quality warnings. Planning my days out at the park, or running errands, based on the difference between a five and a nine on a scale that doesn’t go high enough. 

I used to be a smoker; a nasty habit I picked up when I worked in the bar industry. When I quit years ago, I felt proud that I wouldn’t be ruining my lungs any further. 

I don’t blame others for their decisions, not all the time.