Monday was Groundhog's Day, and the weather here was balmy and beautiful. The woodchuck could certainly have seen his shadow, had he been up, but unlike those people in Punxsutawney, we chose to let him sleep.
The day was sunny enough; the red squirrel would have noticed her shadow if she'd been looking in the right direction, but looking for nuts and watching her back were far more important.
It's a silly tradition, after all, one we've heard since grade school, that if a groundhog sees its shadow that day, there will be six more weeks of winter. But it speaks to our longing for spring, and the warmth and light that come with it. I have a bit of a conflict this year, because the only snow we've seen so far sprinkled over the ground like powdered sugar on a Weight Watcher's cake. And I love snow.
Snowdrops are blooming, and those small white blossoms are always a welcome sight, reminding us that no matter how long it takes for spring to get here, it will surely arrive. They call to mind the promise God made long ago:
As long as the earth endures,
seedtime and harvest,
cold and heat,
summer and winter,
day and night
will never cease.
