Farewell to watching the snow banks mount to the window sills and the thermometer drop out of sight,
to pulling elastic snow pants cuffs down over small boots,
to snow caves, snow men, and snow angels,
to a world that sparkles like a thousand diamonds in the sunshine,
to stepping in unexpected snow water puddles in stocking feet.
Farewell to the sometimes exquisite, always relentless work of the winter wind,
to the battle for an open driveway,
to the endlessly shifting sea of snow dunes,
to snow banners off the shed roof.
Farewell to rainbow sun dogs,
to silver moonlight on midnight blankets of snow,
to Orion, that great starry hunter,
and to the way he and all the rest of the host of heaven twinkles most splendidly on the bitterest of winter nights.
Farewell to conjuring up baking projects just for the sake of making the kitchen cozy,
to scooping up great bowls of freshly-fallen snow to make snow ice cream,
to in-season citrus in the refrigerator drawer,
to rosy-cold cheeks bent appreciatively over steaming hot drinks.
Farewell to the best and longest ski season in years,
to solo breaking trails through the sunset fields,
to swishing beneath the low-hung golden-green cedars while the swans murmur to each other along the banks of a laughing river,
to laughing with friends through the trials of sticky afternoon snow,
to the great frontier of yet-unexplored trails that must now wait until next season.
Farewell to the long dark of winter evenings,
to dinners made elegant by candlelight,
to laps made warm by quilting projects,
to chapters read aloud by lamplight,
to games played late with old friends, and new.
Farewell to winter.
Welcome to spring.
“You have established all the boundaries of the earth; You have made summer and winter.” (Psalm 74:17)
At the top of the sledding hill, the soft whir of tiny wings and the pleasant songs of chickadees surrounded me. They were dancing among the slender tree branches, up above my head against the deep blue of the afternoon sky, taking turns bobbing in and out of the dangling feeder.The rust-breasted nuthatch didn’t stir from his post on a square of suet as well-bundled sledders shouted their way down the hill, not even when I dared peek around the tree trunk to get a better look at him. In fact, he turned out to be a bit of a show off. Bet you can’t hang upside down while eating a chunk of lard. 
He looked at me skeptically, so I figured I’d better prove my point. I left him and his feathered friends to their feast, and down I went, small daughter tucked securely between my knees, flying over the bumps on the snowy track in the direction of the cattails. Down at the bottom of the hill, where the sun was laying long shadows across the river bed, there was an explosion of powder as the sled hit previously un-excavated snow. I shouted in triumph. My daughter, with a surprise face full of powder puff snow, was not so impressed. There were tears, then sniffles, then, to my relief, giggles as a generous sled ride up the hill was offered as recompense.
As I paused briefly to catch my breath, I noted that the birds were still bobbing and flitting in and out of the swinging feeders at the top of the hill. In the midst of this long, hard winter, they were obviously grateful for kindness of these and other thoughtful neighbors that make their daily food search easier. I am grateful to the same neighbors for letting us take over their steep back yard for an afternoon. Also grateful for the warmth exertion supplies, coupled with the sunshine that made it seem not quite as cold as the thermometer read.
At the top, I gave my older daughter a hearty push for a solo trip down the hill, then opened the screen door for Miss Purple Mittens to head happily indoors to hot chocolate. (Bless you, Martie, for that!) I deliberated over which child to follow—but then a large hairy woodpecker swooped in and made my decision easy. Perhaps the only thing quite fascinating enough to distract me from sledding or a good hot drink is a compelling photo opportunity.
Rejoicing Hills 