Saturday, February 6, 2010
There is something like two feet of fresh snow out there and although slowing, it's still coming down. Not my idea of a good time at all. The sheep and chickens are huddled in the barn, not wanting to go out and risk getting stuck in a drift. The geese are seemingly happily sitting outside even though they can get in if they want. Weirdos. The dogs went out and played for awhile, bouncing around, enjoying the novelty of snow above their backs, but then came in shivering and covered in snowballs. As for me, after going out early this morning to make sure everyone had food and water, I came back in to quietly go crazy. Happens every year about this time, mid-January through February. A pressure from within starts building, the place deep inside of me that craves dewey mornings and balmy evenings, the scent of freshly mown grass, warm soil, and the feeling of sunshine on bare arms. Winter is to be endured. Spring, celebrated. I'm ready to celebrate. Past ready, really.