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Remember: Yellow Signs of Spring

Monday, February 22, 2010

Yellow Signs of Spring

Amy sent me a text message from the Farmers Market which is roughly a block from where I live. She had come to Allentown to visit her husband's mom. John(her husband) has been my best friend since high school and Amy is as near to me as he is. I was glad to hear from her, glad she was visiting, and glad she asked to go for a walk.

It was close to forty degrees, which after the winter we have had felt nearly tropical. Arriving at Trexler Park, it became quite apparent I was not alone in my quest to feel the warm afternoon. Trexler Park was full of dogs, people, strollers etc.

Amy had never been to Trexler Park before. She grew up in Connecticut before moving here. She said Trexler Park was beautiful. Even here, in late winter, it was.


The height of the snow alongside the paths and across the fields was lower but still deep. The slightly warm wind blew across the snowpack and felt as frigid as always walking through the park.

We walked up to see General Trexler. He looked as ready for spring as we were. It would seem too early to find any signs of it yet. The birds in the park hadn’t returned. They never left. A cardinal posed for me by the bridge.

When I got home from Trexler Park, my father was returning as well. He had just taken a journey through the Parkway and he brought news with him. He held a yellow flower in his hand, having discovered the first real signs of life any of us had seen growing outside in months. I would go to the Park way the next day and seem them for myself.
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Winter has a way of forcing a reflective spirit onto a traveler. The world seems monochromatic with warmth and life itself at an untouchable, unfeeling distance.



The Parkway was as it had been, cold blanketed in snow. The tinge of warmth in the wind from the previous day had gone.

Dad led the way down the familiar path with a completely unfamiliar surface.

I suppose what happened next shouldn’t have surprised me as much as it did. I first noticed summer turning fall in this exact spot. I heard my Dad call out and point towards the hillside. Sure enough, there by the receding snow, were little yellow flowers. Their petals were pulled tightly closed. The early Sorrell was cold, I was too.


I knew I wouldn’t be for long looking at these yellow flowers.

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1 Comments:

Blogger Red-Hot American Justice said...

Heck yeah, cardinal!

February 23, 2010 at 1:39 AM  

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