three more months
I’m looking out the window at yet another installment of snow, trying to remember spring. The plant catalogs have arrived and they are starting to form a nice little pile on my coffee table. I should start picking seeds, the seed trays are soon to come out of the garage and into the living room.
Every now and then the weather softens a bit and then I get to go out into the garden and it feels like a gift, I can’t even tell you how I miss spring. With three more months to go, cabin fever kicked into full gear.
The indoor plants are doing their best to cheer me up, they’re all in bloom, even the asparagus fern which blooms randomly throughout the year, I haven’t figured out the pattern yet, and whose tiny white flowers are followed by bright red berries, round as beads.
It’s hard to remember spring when the light dims to dusky levels in the middle of the day and the frozen dirt is harder than rock. It’s January, I guess it’s supposed to be cold.
The snow keeps sifting from the colorless sky in a slow steady rhythm, covering the ground with a thin powdery layer; the tree in the front yard projects bare branches, dark as cement, on the milky snow clouds. It shivers in the icy wind every now and then. Even watching this from behind a window feels cold. I’ll go back to my burrow and stay there until the magnolias bloom.
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