Barring unexpected cold snaps between now and the Ice Saint Days, spring has arrived. The plum blossoms have come and gone, and the cherry and pear blossoms are waning. The storks have returned. The mornings trill with birdsong. The sun hangs longer in the sky — even without the insipid time change last week. Yes, it’s safe to say that spring has arrived.
Me? Not so much.
Though I have mowed the lawn twice, I have not felt as inspired to get out there and get cracking the way I usually do when the weather turns and stays nice. I will spend the next two days planting most of the garden and starting the greenhouse, but I’m not overly enthusiastic about it.
Spring is in the air, but I remain locked in the dreary rhythm of winter. I’m sure all that will change tomorrow after I feel the warm sun on my skin and inevitably break a sweat digging and hoeing. If not, I am bound to catch up to the season after I hear my first cuckoo call, which is bound to come any day now.
Something will have to do the trick -- I have planned many substantial projects that require spring and summer tempos, not a dour winter cadence.
Me? Not so much.
Though I have mowed the lawn twice, I have not felt as inspired to get out there and get cracking the way I usually do when the weather turns and stays nice. I will spend the next two days planting most of the garden and starting the greenhouse, but I’m not overly enthusiastic about it.
Spring is in the air, but I remain locked in the dreary rhythm of winter. I’m sure all that will change tomorrow after I feel the warm sun on my skin and inevitably break a sweat digging and hoeing. If not, I am bound to catch up to the season after I hear my first cuckoo call, which is bound to come any day now.
Something will have to do the trick -- I have planned many substantial projects that require spring and summer tempos, not a dour winter cadence.
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