Winter has been, shall we say, a little trying this time around. That going from downtown to the suburbs is to blame for my inordinate level of hermiting is an attractive theory, but it’s a trick of timing. I still have everything I need in (slightly longer) walking distance. I suppose the significant trade-up in dwelling could be considered a factor, but I’ve always been an expert nester.
No, it was the weather. Was? Is? Do I trust the sudden shift in conditions? The wind certainly belies a seasonal change. (Wind. Yes, now I’m hiding from the wind, but this should, at least, be a shorter-lived atmospheric assault.)
I tended the window sill herbs this morning (and by morning, I mean around 1 PM because I’m a writer and this really shouldn’t surprise you). I stood at the dining room window gazing dreamily into my backyard, crusted with partially melted snow, the slow reveal of grass like a striptease.
“…So tedious is this day
As is the night before some festival
To an impatient child that hath new robes
And may not wear them.”
(Romeo and Juliet 3.2.30-33)
The virgin Juliet understands how I feel about my backyard, which I have yet to enjoy in spring and summer. The herbs are outgrowing their starter pots.
Let’s get this show on the road, Earth.
Love the strip tease comment. My back yard snow is pole dancing around the clothesline pole.
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Mother Nature is definitely a tease at this time of year.
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