Today I ought to head outdoors and scythe the perennial grasses to the ground before the new green growth gets in the way. As long as I am in the beds, I should shear the shrub twigs that the deer somehow managed to ignore. Then to the garage and back with a rake to spruce things up, then to the compost pile with leaf litter and grass.

While in the garage I should push the snow blower out and run it ‘til empty. Then move the mower front and center, fill it with gas, and put the snow blower in its summer back place. On second thought, I ought put the mower in the trunk and head to the dealer, and get that damn self adjusting right wheel bolted in place.

While in the garage I should pick up the heavy pruner and bow saw, and head out to the back where tree branches are dangling. After a winter of wind and snow, while in the back, I should definitely pick up all the fallen twigs and branches and put them in the pile for later hauling to the brush dump. Then there’s the mucking out of the pond feature, and I really ought to drain the black water and refill, after I haul out the hoses from the garage. And I really shouldn’t delay in hauling out the patio furniture, which will entail backing the car out of the garage.

I ought to finish taking in the Christmas lights on the shrubs out front, which got buried under snow and locked in ice. I should put them away in their rightful container, and while I’m in the basement, I should flush the drain tiles of their accumulated sludge. First, though, I must take a trip to the hardware store and purchase 100′ of clean hose, which I’ve been meaning to do since last fall.

If I’m to be in the basement, after visiting the hardware store, I ought first check to see whether a replacement air filter is on hand, which I think won’t be found, as the replacement replaced the previous just last fall. And while I’m at it, and before I depart, it would be wise to take stock of our store of water softening salt. It also occurs to me that new leather work gloves should be located, as the current ones were found lacking when hacking and hauling the rose bush last fall. And I ought to find a new pruner to replace the one dropped last fall.

While I’m out and about I should look for a new rim, which I promised my daughter I’d replace along with the net for shooting hoops this summer. I should also hunt for a new mailbox, to replace the falling apart one held together with wire since winter (and I could only figure wire to hold it together since caulk and or glue and -20 degrees are akin to oil and water).

I ought to purchase more twine and re-hang the honeysuckle vine that’s come down, and I should go to the rental place and rent an aerator and loosen the ground (But if I shouldn’t get around to renting and aerating, I should at least purchase two 5000 sq. ft. bags of spring fertilizer, then march the spreader back and forth across the lawn - I should at least do that.)

Seeing as how its late afternoon and there’s dinner yet to prepare, I should stop at the grocery store so I’d really best get going. Specially since its our first meal together as a family in quite a while, and I ought to return the overdue books to the library before I pick up my daughter at softball practice, and you know she hates grocery shopping when there’s a night’s worth of homework looming and explaining suchness at that moment isn’t likely to bear any fruit, whatsoever.

And I ought to be OK with that, too.

We are in early spring, suffering early spring. The day is overcast, having rained since 4 am when the thunderclap woke me. Now subsided to more of a mist, a robin is singing some song or other but he should have held his peace, for he is a false prophet. More raw than rain would suggest, spring dallies somewhere in the offing while snow mounds suffer its onslaught.

* * * * *

I was reminded today that we’re changing from glove hunting season to umbrella hunting season. I could have sworn we had more than many. Where would I have put it so I could find it come spring?

* * * * *

I have just returned, having knocked off walking somewhere north of 5 miles, my calves being as stiff as an old paint brush. All of the sedentary routine of winter paying its respects upon my frame. But I had to get out, between downpours, to reacquaint myself with the world beyond.

* * * * *

It seems more difficult than previous to be one with nature in winter. I have hazy recollections of the peace and stillness that comes upon a snowstorm, when cross country skiing in the Kettle Moraine. Or the shear aliveness I remember when riding ice cakes down the river. My routine of shoveling first my driveway and then my father inlaw’s, a near record snow fall total this year, the pestering need to rake the heavy snow off the second story roof after first hauling an extension ladder through knee-deep snow, icy roads and teenage drivers under said roof all conspired to take the thrill out of the season.

* * * * *

So, out I went and, between shivers, thought of last summer. (Can it only be 9 months since the heat wave last August? No one was saying it wasn’t hot, what with the windows stick, the glasses fog and the air smells of rot. Even the water bugs turned their feet up and lay on their backs, breathing heavily. 130 degrees in the shade, if memory serves. Ahh, the pleasures of family get-togethers, this time in Hilton Head, planned two years before. I wasn’t remembering the terrible discomfort of sticky shirts, perspiration racing from forehead to chin, or that certain chafing down lower. What I remembered was the warmth of early morning walks along the beach, lounging in the shallow end like frogs both mornings and afternoons, or after dark reunions with extended family alongside the pool.)

On my walk I found the first signs that spring is near. The pale green just now emerging from underneath the drab yellow of matted grass. Then I looked closer and saw a few green shoots of something thrusting out of mother earth. I admit I saw this because, due to my aching calves, I had slowed to a crawl. Then I stopped altogether. An unusually large bird I’d never seen before, with a black coat, small red head and throat, was looking down at me from its perch in the tree above. We stared at each other for a time, then it called out - ‘thock, thock, thock.’

The sound reverberated within me, and not just from the decibels.

I was greeted upon my return by a flock of red wing blackbirds conspiring in the three trees grouped to the side of our front door. All seemingly eager to twill their sweet melody at once, all confirming their joy in living this day, and all too quickly alighting as if one to spread their message down the lane.