The term mud season as a synonym for spring never resonated with me. Though it is somewhat descriptive of the season, it obscures other more inviting possibilities. It is the reveal of nature that draws me into spring. What are the things buried beneath winter’s snow that reappear in an April melt? And what do I need to do about them?

Leaves that November winds never blew away lay soggy on the ground, still waiting for me to rake them. The dog’s favorite ball is back for another throw. The garden gloves I never missed appear out near the flower garden, waiting to be useful.

This early piece of spring is all part of clearing the path for May’s warmth. Not only does it appear in the things that reappear, there is also an attitude, maybe even a swagger, that takes confident control of the air. It is nothing that you can touch, capture, or save. You can’t even really plan for it. You just know it will come and you know when it has arrived. Our nature crosses a threshold and there will be no going back. Not even a late-season snowfall can change it. The yard will turn from brown to green no matter the momentary constitution of the precipitation.

And with every reduction of snow on the ground, possibilities appear for consideration like new forms of life learning to walk. Within it all, expectations build as we await the inevitable goodness of warmth. It reminds me of a song from West Side Story: “Something’s coming, something good.” Formerly subdued by cold and snow, we emerge from hiding to seek discovery. Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying goes. But when spring brings these things back into view, be ready to pounce.

There is also a moment when frozen thoughts defrost for consideration. Maybe this time, this year, we will see those thoughts in a different way, from a different perspective that will lead to some unexpected place. No longer stuck in February ice, we can be free to splash around a bit without constraint. Let the dust and dirt wash away in the thaw to make room for fresh air worth breathing. Draw it in, deep, deep breaths of halleluiah pushing forward, leading us to renewal.

In New Hampshire we get to experience the four seasons as equals. Nature allots each a full four months to demonstrate some unique usefulness. We know they will begin and we know they will end. We can regulate ourselves to accept each turn of the month, each turn of the season. The seasons pass by like clouds in a blue sky. Some days they command more notice. Some days they just blow by without any special attention.

There is no favorite season for me. There are things I like and don’t like about each. But spring always feels like opportunity. Something is coming, something new. That I can have that expectation every year nurtures a bit of persistent hope. Things will change. The earth will spring open and release what it holds.

There is also a need to leave some things buried after the snow has gone. This time of year, letting go becomes acceptable. Looking ahead requires not looking back, not letting wistful thinking about things gone by distract us. Change is the seed that spring plants and it needs to be fresh.

No, rather than get bogged in the mud of early spring, I would rather move ahead in expectation. After all, I endured the winter. Now it is time to consider the option of June heat.