It is a truism that by the time we notice spring it is essentially over.
How did it get by us once again? The signs were there: the first I noticed was that the moss along the path was a brighter green. But was it something bursting forth in the cells of the moss or just the enhanced quality of the light? Something is going on.
Even the gulls on the beach show brighter whites, cleaner greys, more pronounced yellow bills. That’s not the light. Increasingly, the buds of the sassafras swell. In town, there is the odd crocus, followed by nodding daffodils. Off-Cape the willows have a yellow blush. Of course some of our birds are back, or moving through, calling and singing from dawn to dusk. And the whales have reappeared.
Still, spring gets by us: does the male goldfinch gain those yellow feathers one at a time, or, as it seems, overnight?
These thoughts were on my mind as I followed my dog down a narrow pathway. Suddenly, she stopped, like a pointer -which she is not- and looked straight up.
There, at eye level, lodged against a pair of last year’s pine cones, hanging in the light breeze, were my gloves. My gloves!
I was so delighted, first at getting my gloves back, second that my dog Dory is so downright wonderful, and third that someone had performed an act of anonymous kindness. Who could it have been? On a typical day we see no one, although we always see evidence that these paths have been visited. Dory of course collects more evidence than I do. Occasionally we run into friends and acquaintances, most accompanied by their dogs. So, was it Michael and Kenny?, Jody?, Kia? Or someone I do not know? Whoever it was, the simple act touched me.
I thanked my anonymous benefactor, my kindred spirit, and vowed to pay forward this little act of kindness.
Gloves safely in hand, I walked through the spring morning smiling.
