I’m writing this to the steady beat of morning rain. It’s cozy here with my tea and even though it’s been storming since yesterday, it doesn’t feel like winter anymore.
The rain has been washing away all the telltale bits of snow and ice around town. The ground looks like it simply wants to grow; the grass is on the verge of reaching for the sky. Organic alert is everywhere, from the damp ground to the smell in the air.
Maybe it’s time to start thinking about the garden and getting one’s hand’s dirty in the ground. I love those kinds of thoughts. More than any other time of year, going into the beds and primping and cleaning and poking around for signs of life brings me up way high and away from the winter lows. Even the color of the clouds looks different, more inviting and open with life.
Its time for some color.
Every year for a long time, I went south to New Orleans for a refresher. In mid-February, the azaleas and rhododendrons might be ready to play. There you would see the most wonderfully saturated blossoms, all a-petticoat, ready for a grand spring show. The amazing colors collected all attention to themselves and it was hard to find other flowers more inviting after they’d cast their spell.
This color reminds me of lush and sprawling bushes I’d see walking the streets of NOLA. City parks were ringed with them; houses had side yards given over. I always fell in love.