I ran this morning on a route I did on a daily basis in my teens. Out my parent’s front door, down the gravel driveway and out to County Road 155 North. Snow was still on the ground in patches, the roads wet and clear. I took my gloves off at about a mile and carried them. Fog hung over the low lying areas and mixed with my smoke-like exhalations. A lone “honker” made his presence known as he swooped low into a field that bordered a small pond, water finally visible around the edges. The open ditch ran with snowmelt, and hundreds of bright green shoots were just showing themselves. Road lily, cornflower and daisies will be peppered in this same spot in a couple of months. As I neared the turn around point, horses were being led out of a large barn that was once a sweet corn operation and site of my very first paying job (besides babysitting). As the girl closed the gate to the corral the thoroughbred sensed Spring and jumped straight up, deer-like, several times, before he broke into a trot and then a gallop to catch up to his corral mates. I understood that joy it must be feeling, from seeing grass after not, for what must seem like eons this year. They rolled in the mud and pawed at the earth. I almost miss that feeling of “getting through” a winter, to experience the freedom of getting out, breathing hard, and running outside. I don’t live here anymore. And I doubt I will ever move back, but I am sure glad that I tasted that sweet promise of spring this morning. It had the same flavor it did over 40 years ago.