The weather.
Because I am boring and because I am tired of this white stuff floating down from the sky, even if it is pretty.
Yes, more snow.
And so, we wait. And we plant seedlings, now resting on our windowsill. And we watch movies, cozied up by the woodstove. And we bundle up - AGAIN - and go out to play in the snow - ONE LAST TIME, AGAIN. And we watch some new birdie friends from the window. And I write. And dada and I talk garden dreams. And, oh! we are buying the frame for a yurt! We hope to put it up this summer, in our back yard! A WRITING YURT! A yurt, can you believe it??
THE DREAM IS ALIVE!
Hope.
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| before the dratted snow came back the kids dedicated their outside time to "digging up the garden for mom and dad" |
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| a common redpoll |
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| a purple finch |
Hope springs eternal in the human breast;
Man never Is, but always To be blest:
The soul, uneasy and confin'd from home,
Rests and expatiates in a life to come.
-Alexander Pope, An Essay on Man
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