Winter has been long and gray and holding tight, unwilling to give way. But it’s late March now, and winter goes grudgingly, allowing spring to tip toe in.

It’s rained much of this last week, and I haven’t been out on two wheels for too long. So in spite of forecast rain and the questionable sky, I suited up and headed canalside.

It was a thrill to see signs of spring at last. Cherry blossoms. Forsythia. Wildflowers in the grass. I heard the birds singing in the trees and saw a highly-colored cock pheasant in the grass along the feeder creek. The willow catkins have burst and hang long. Trees and shrubs are leafing out. And I caught a whiff of something fragrant.

At long last. We have all certainly earned our springtime here.