Signs of spring? Yuck!

So you know all those sentimental thought-kins about the loveliness of spring, robins bobbing about, the first tender shoots springing hesitantly from the lately-frozen ground, etc etc?

Well, fuhgeddaboudit.

Around here, the signs of spring are messy, disgusting, and best acknowledged with rubber gloves and a long-handled shovel.

Having a tall mountain of snow covering our lawns and sidewalks hides a multitude of sins in my part of the world. In this relatively snowless year, the sun still manages to do its warming work despite the frigid temperatures. That's why it's never truly a good idea to look at the puddles on the side of the road outside, and assume you won't be needing Hot Paws and a fleece scarf to run your errands on foot.

When the tall mountains do melt, as they did here, what's uncovered is often a veritable Lost and Found of old garbage, brownish-grey vegetation and discarded junk.

And yes, the gloves and mittens. Sad and alone, they point nowhere in particular, soggy and greyed, waiting patiently for their former owners to reclaim them and become useful again. A particularly local sight: a single mitten or glove, of any size and description, upright on a metal pole - waiting to go home again.

It ain't poetry - but it's truth. Sad mittens are a sure sign of spring, around here.