Monday, February 24, 2014
Everyone said that they were there, under the snow. I didn't believe it because I hadn't seen the ground in a month. But sure enough, there they are, the baby shoots of daffodils, snowdrops and hyacinths, peeking through the mulch. I also found the red knobs of budding peonies, but to photograph them at this stage felt too invasive, like I had barged into their dressing room unannounced. Julian chastised me for prematurely denuding them of their leaf litter but I always fear they will rot under the swampy mess that the melting snow leaves. This conversation happens every year, a family tradition I suppose.
I keep feeling perplexed that I'm not swooning for spring. This is odd for me, but for some reason I seem more accepting of the season than normal. I think all the snow has helped. I love the snow. I even tried to psyche myself up for spring by building my spring pinterest board. Not even that worked.
This morning, I asked about the weather and Julian stated that the high would be in the 30s. I felt deflated when I realized that nothing but a big coat would do. Maybe that was it - my first little glimpse of passive aggressive spring longing. I don't want to wear a big coat. I want my elbows to be free.