I walked on green grass this afternoon. Soft, lushly lumpy, crispy crunchy at the edges, real honest to gosh green grass. I could feel my chest swell with a rush of rising joy as my feet squashed down into it (guess the lawn could have used another mowing last fall).

Is it any wonder that spring is such a beloved season? That just one long, narrow strip of green could cause such elation is cause for reflection....especially since all that green grass is visible and walk-on-able simply because we did an inadequate job of insulating the pipes that carry hot water down from the outdoor woodstove to heat the house.

As long as the snow doesn't get too deep you can see that strip of green out there all winter, straggling across the yard in all its glory. You can find the same strip in the summer because it is planted with different grass than the old lawn. The new stuff is thick, wiry and dark green, not to mention very traffic tolerant. (It even survived having the whole darned herd of dairy cows punch it all up the last day before frost the fall before last). The old grass is thin, soft and a sweet lime green, just wonderful to walk in barefoot (in warmer months and with great care to avoid the thistles that lurk beneath it). In June it is studded with wild violets in white and two shades of bluish purple. The boss's dad planted it when he was a teenaged boy, working as a gardener for the wealthy folks who owned the place then.

I came indoors and contemplated starting some geranium seedlings. With all that grass out there it feels like time.