So, this happened this morning:
Tap, tap. Tap, tap.
“What?” Winter spun around at a light touch on his shoulder. He was trying to push some trees over with his icy breath.
“Good morning. I told you I would return.”
It was, is, Spring.
“You can’t! It’s still March! I have plenty of time. I am still strong enough to blow you from here to the Atlantic!” Winter blew hard to prove it. A sudden snow flurry obliterated the forest. The rocks peering through their unexpected white blanket resembled a Bev Doolittle painting.
“See?” Winter shouted. “I still own this land and all the light-starved people in it!”
“Look over there,” said Spring. “My friends are on their way.”
Winter turned and looked at the mountainside he had encased in a thick sheet of ice last December. It was beginning to sparkle. It looked gray in the morning light, but when he looked closer, he saw what Spring already knew. There was a trickle of water under the glass, a hundred silent streams slipping over outcroppings and sliding under piles of stone. And the worst sight of all: at the bottom of the mountain was an open pool of water being fed by a small icefall of snowmelt. If this kept up, Winter would collapse and fail.
“NOOOOOO! There is still time, I am not done! This is still ALLLLL MINE!” Winter jumped up and down like a child caught in a tantram. Tree branches crashed to the ground with the thunder of his fury. A Red-tailed Hawk struggled in the wind, trying to gain altitude to reach his mate hanging in the sky above.
To Winter’s dismay, the drumming of a Pileated woodpecker echoed through the woods. He heard the bird’s cry: kik kik kik kik kik kik! Crows chased each other, zipping through the still bare branches of oaks and maples and landing in the tall spruce trees. One even had a twig in its bill, it was starting to build a nest! A Red-bellied Woodpecker whirred as it hooked itself onto the trunk of a tulip poplar, poking for early insects. Winter fell to his knees.
“I…am…not…done…yet….” he whispered.
“I am here today to take the land back,” Spring announced. “Look!”
Winter groaned.
Above his head were a thousand gleaming black wings stippling the blue sky. Red-winged blackbirds were descending into the brush growing around the still frozen pond, shrieking their arrival at their annual breeding grounds.
“I came with the sun in late January,” said Spring. “Didn’t you hear the cardinals announcing my arrival when they saw me from the junipers? They knew!” Winter glowered and looked away. A brief shower of hail clattered around him.
Spring stepped aside. Under her feet were the purple snouts of crocuses poking through the ground, nonplussed by the sight of spent hailstones.
Winter gasped. A cold wind howled.
“I still have time,” he mumbled.
Spring laughed.
“I AM SPRING, AND I AM HERE!