08/04/2025
The locals here have a saying:
Spring doesn’t arrive all at once in the Alps.
It climbs.
You see it first in the valley:
The way the river
shifts from winter whispers
to spring songs.
Then it creeps up the slopes,
painting the meadows one wildflower at a time,
while snow still crowns the peaks like an old king
refusing to surrender his throne.
Our dogs understand it.
They know the secret of mountain seasons and embrace it:
There’s no rush.
No hard lines between
winter and spring.
Just this gentle dance
of snow and flowers,
of endings and beginnings.
Maybe that’s why I love
these in-between days the most.
When winter’s still holding on up high,
but spring’s sending scouts:
These brave little daisies,
these determined yellow blooms,
these purple pioneers begin
claiming new ground
one petal at a time.
