Climate change lives here:
That's what it looked like outside my door two days ago and - seriously, folks. It's January. In January, this scene should show knee-deep snow on the sides where I've shoveled a path to the garage. Sometimes in early January there is no new snow, and sometimes the temperatures are milder than, say, in February - but rain?
As it happens I'm quite partial to rain, but it does worry me to see quite so many buds and new plants sprouting from old ones in all the gardens around here. At least the evergreens look right.
Today it's a different world.
Last night the temperature dropped and turned the puddles into squirrel-sized ice rinks, and it's snowing the kind of snow that's sticking, so we have a dusting of white as I type. By mid-morning there should be something to shovel off of them.
If you don't consider the implications, this recent run of spring weather has been a great break... the scent in the air, the touch of a soft breeze, the promise of new beginnings, all positioned so close the winter holiday season there's been no time to be beaten down by the cold or become in any way desperate for sun. I read a passage last night in The Morville Hours (really, this is a wonderful book for inspiration) that reminded me of the appeal of 'getting back to nature' - following the rhythms of the world through planting and harvest, composting, etc.
Yes, it's meditative and so time- and energy-consuming as to make you forget you don't yet have the latest pocket-sized technological aid. But if all goes well, it also gives you the illusion of control over your surroundings, don't you find? As though the plants produced fruit because you told them to, by way of a seed and good soil.
Denial: a girl's best friend.