It's sort of funny to me. My grandmother always kept diaries. She would list who she saw or talked to, often what she ate, but always some commentary on the weather.
As a youngster, that struck me as such bland fodder. I mean, what about love? Where was the gossip? How did she FEEL about things?
As a youngster, that struck me as such bland fodder. I mean, what about love? Where was the gossip? How did she FEEL about things?
Now I get it.
Having spent most of February "holed up", reading and writing, and thinking, I can understand that the weather is part of everything we do. Living more-or-less in the country, our activities are ruled by the ability to actually get out of the doorway and how well our vehicle navigates whatever the heavens send forth. Our moods, our communications, our movements and the very air we breathe depends on what happens outside the house. I'm not sure I ever truly understood that before.
Having spent most of February "holed up", reading and writing, and thinking, I can understand that the weather is part of everything we do. Living more-or-less in the country, our activities are ruled by the ability to actually get out of the doorway and how well our vehicle navigates whatever the heavens send forth. Our moods, our communications, our movements and the very air we breathe depends on what happens outside the house. I'm not sure I ever truly understood that before.
Today is almost seasonal. There is some snow melt going on, and amidst the still present drifts and piles, I was able to bend closer and see that someday soon Spring will get here. The chickweed is nestled under the evergreens.
Spring is putting on her dancing shoes right now and pressing her colorful clothes. Baby blue-eyes and red dead nettles struggle forth, blooming in spite of everything.
I could not be more ready.
Spring is putting on her dancing shoes right now and pressing her colorful clothes. Baby blue-eyes and red dead nettles struggle forth, blooming in spite of everything.I could not be more ready.
