Winter has been long this year, biting deep across much of North America. Where crocuses and snowdrops were bursting and glowing in previous years, now the stubborn mud refuses to give way. It’s affecting everyone at my house – I see us straining to catch a patch of blue sky, a sprout of green in the garden, the smell of spring in a breeze. We haven’t caught much.
While thinking about the spring awakening we long for, I realized that other changes will come with it. We’ll spend more time outdoors, less time reading; more time playing tag, less time playing make-believe; more time picnicking, less time telling stories around the table.
Is spring bad for the imagination?