Melting Madness

As I stepped outside for a mid-afternoon constitutional I noticed a certain spring in my step--a spring that is in step with spring itself. The first real melting of the snow—the first real sign of spring. My senses were awakened with a sound I have not heard in many months, the sounds of a babbling brook… or in this case, the sound of dirty, melting snow and ice plummeting down the storm drain.

I walked to the drain and saw the melting pile of dirty, black, garbage-strewn snow at the side of the road gently—reluctantly-giving itself up and returning to its liquid state. As if the city is slowly cleansing itself; washing off four months of funk and stalled decay. There was something symbolic in it as I watched the melting water pour down the drain carrying cigarette butts, empty plastic bags and myriad tidbits of the accumulated dirt and grime of the city into its bowels.

It seemed to me like all the frustrations, irritations, inconveniences and troubles of winter were hidden within that snow bank on the side of the road. The accumulated ill-will of our metropolitan collective was being swept away in a small torrent of cleansing, dirty-brown water.

Though I have no doubt the snow will come again before this spring has sprung, this small respite provides some sense of hope--a sense of better things and better days to come.

It’s supposed to rain tomorrow. I can’t wait.