It feels almost like spring up here at the lake. I am still wearing a parka but I can take off my mitts, and once I get down from my own road where winter is still in full command with icy roads, frozen waterfalls and lots of snow, every drop in altitude brings more signs of spring. Pike Lake road is still icy but many of the puddles are covered in brittle skins of ice under which muddy water gurgles. Kenya breaks through scattering fragments of ice and soaking her leg feathers in wet mud. At the cottage belonging to people living in Africa year round there are new roof trusses sitting on the deck waiting for spring. The stream out of the lake is now ice-free, and on the far side of the lake where the sun is strongest, the puddles are really mud-puddlicious ... until Kenya shakes and my freshly washed floor is splattered with mud droplets.
On my road only the decaying quality of the snow lets me know that spring is just around the corner.
But it is only February. It can't last. Old Man Winter will give us at least one more reminder that we live in Canada.
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