That First Little Hint

I could feel it for about an hour yesterday afternoon. I could feel a warm breeze, I could see a shining sun, and I could feel a patch of dirt underneath my feet. Spring was in the air down at the end of the St. George Peninsula, even if it only made a brief appearance. On the first day of March, any Mainer will accept any sort of appearance from that elusive and long awaited season that is Spring. Even if the nights are still frigid and the winds continue to blow hard from the north, the days are slowly getting longer, and the light is slowly getting stronger. Soon the birds will return and their joyous songs will be heard up and down the coast. The floats will go back in the water, and the summer sailboats will again find their moorings. The ice will melt and the snow will vanish. Green grass will rise again, and the sweet smells of spring flowers will fill the air with a heavenly aroma. Yes, this will all happen, but not quite yet. A boy can dream, and dream I will! With a strong breeze sweeping through the town, and the temperatures seemingly reaching as far as they could into the 30's, I spent an afternoon in Port Clyde, desperately searching for the first signs of Spring. What I found was not promising, but it was also not devastating. There were still no real trace of any people lingering outside, but a few hardy souls chipped away at the thick coats of ice that blanketed the town docks. There were no flowers in bloom, but the traps of most of the hardy Lobstermen that breath life into this small village were stacked high and wide down at the end of their respective docks, perfectly positioned to get back in the water. The wind would stop for a moment, and the warmth of the sun would sweep over my covered body. Then as soon as a relative comfort would set in, a stiff gust off the ocean would hit me, shattering all my ill conceived notions of winter's early demise. The Ice Cream store remains closed, and the kayak guides are nowhere to be found. The General store parking lot is still a ball of ice, and one could conceivably play a game of hockey on the town dock. Yet, for a moment, a sweet and sublime fleeting moment, Spring was here. I swear by it! I know we residents of Northern New England still have miles to travel before we can open our windows at night and linger in the soft breezes of summer, but what harm can a little seasonal optimism do. A boy can dream, and dream I will. Spring, that lovely little season of such promise, will soon be here. Somehow, someway, somewhere!