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April 28, 2005 at 9:36 AM

The entire town had become agitated with the saturated snow-barren earth, and stifled by the oxygen-deprived sky. Every Alaskan craves a sunburn at this time of year. For weeks on end, the clouds held their ground, and the wind came from the north, raging like the proverbial lion of March. The gulls, terns and ducks awaited the grand opening of their still-frozen lake, gathering as spectators in the bordering trees, bickering over their territories. Songs of juncos and thrushes began to punctuate the silent air, yet the beligerant ice held. Where was spring?

All the while, the sun became more convincing, gaining momentum from the swing of the earth's axis, and suddenly it seemed to be peeking in at all odd hours, at 5:30 in the morning, and lingering until 9:00, then 9:30. Sleep deprivation set in, with only six hours of darkness to guide my slumber.

Then, in a matter of two days or less, something changed. A mist of green tinted the sides of the running trail, a hue you could only catch by looking out and across it, not down at it. The wind changed directions, and the forestry department uncovered their fire hazard indicator that stood on the side of the highway. We had our first bear mauling of the season. The first RV sighting marked the beginning of the annual migration of tourists. The grey-bearded hitchiker and his backpack returned at the end of town, cardboard sign in hand. Frost heaves suddenly bulged, as if by the workings of an underground gnome, making our comings and goings on the lane to our home the perfect depiction of a four-wheel-drive commercial. Amidst the mud and street-sweepers and the grand opening of the new hardware store (7,000 people in attendance), something changed.

There was no great sound when it happened. If you weren't looking, you could easily miss it. Gradually, the lake transformed from an opaque white to translucent streaked grey. Today, I checked with the anticipation one would have if expecting an important letter. Was it out yet? The lake was black, with only the thinnest shell of ice holding it in. Throughout the day, twice, three times I looked. But you never do see the exact moment it happens; it's never when anyone is looking. Perhaps some year I should take the day off and stay at the lake, watching as I would a pot of boiling water. But I missed it again. Before I could even remember I was waiting, I caught a glimmer out of the corner of my eye. The scale had dissolved, and the lake twinkled once more in a brilliant blue, winking through the trees as we drove by, like an old friend.

It's no wonder that spring is the time of year when people feel the most alive, when lonely bachelors start pestering the girl pulling the shots at the coffee shop. As I scratch at the new color on my arms, I notice my sinuses even feel decidedly more open and alive. Ahhh.

Get your fiddles out and play a jig, folks, it's spring.

Trying to catch the exact time that ice goes and water appears reminds me of my Dad's obsession one year to catch the lettuce leaves curling around a head of lettuce as it grew.

Yes, it was funny.

"It's easy !"

It is easy to express oneselves understandably with all the mistakes having in mind what is standard.
But as a non-native speaker and reader I am overwhelmed by the richness of English and your text is a wonderful poetry, but I am aware of that it's not because of English itself.
It would have been different but any language mastered would have been at your service.

Though your text is above all these conceptions or misconceptions thanks to
your handling of the language like a great violinist is interpreting a piece of music, where the notes not are an obstacle but simply in total service of the artistic expression.

My dream is always to be able to play with the words and use the whole pattern of colours like a painter and your text is very inspiring as I totally feel this excitement of a miracle that comes every year.

Trying to catch the dramatic moment, when the Spring finally has conquered its predecessor the Winter ....

You make me feel the intensity and excitement of the Spring in Alaska, where Spring is like in the North of Scandinavia, where one can register second for second, if one is open for it.

I take it for granted that you write a lot. You have to with such a gift !

Thoughts from a restless soul, who loves your masterpiece !
Ariel

Music Giveaway

Mark O'Connor's method books -- released this week -- teach students using many styles of American music. Enter to win a set of the books this week, on Violinist.com. Photo: Deanna Rose

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About Emily

Emily Grossman is from Soldotna, Alaska. Biography

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