The zipper on the short flame-colored jacket I bought in Kilkenny has broken. I hope it can be repaired, but, in truth, I am delighted to find both zipping rows gnashing their teeth at each other and refusing to mesh. It is a sign of spring.
Have you noticed? As much as the trumpeting daffodils and the exuberant crabapple blossoms, a winter wardrobe will announce the arrival of sun-warmed days and greening trees. I do not lament the missing glove, nor the boots that have lost their waterproofing. Buttons have gone missing from two sweaters, but, no matter, I will not need to fasten them now. Who knows where I abandoned the blue fleece hat with cosy earflaps. In any case it is gone and for a while I will need to pull my scarf up around my ears, but not for long. The twee of the red-winged blackbird, as he shrills from the larch, is much sharper now that my ears are uncovered.
Eventually, I will take my little Irish jacket to the tailor and have a new zipper installed, but I doubt I will think of it again until next fall. Then, as the leaves begin to launch themselves from the treetops, and the fields along Route 96 fill with gaudy pumpkins, ready for autumn holidays, I will remember my jacket and my long-lost glove. But not now! Right now, I am relishing the newborn springtime, happy my wardrobe can serve as a worthy harbinger of the season as surely as the spring peepers exclaiming their delight for all to hear.
