I hate winter.
And like any true winter-hater, I've been hibernating since New Year's Day. (Well . . . with exception of work, groceries, liquor store . . . etc. . . etc. . .) I can't even blame the weather. Not really. It hasn't been a particularly harsh winter. It's just been . . . winter. Grey and cold and damp and miserable.
But there is hope. Daylight Savings Time arrives this weekend and with it, more evening light and the promise of spring. And with spring comes the anticipation of weather warm enough to merit a return to the back deck/Halloween workshop.
So on an unseasonably warm late-winter day last week, I ventured out into the back yard for the first time in months to survey what winter had left behind and daydream about summer. When over in a corner between the deck and the back of the house, a flash of green caught my eye. It wasn't new plant growth; it was better. A leftover remnant of Halloween netting. It had somehow managed to survive the wind and snow by clinging desperately to a hardy shrub. It warmed my heart.
But not for long. The mild interlude ended, the snow returned, and so far, March has been wintrier than January and February combined. I've left the netting there. A beacon of hope in the late-winter landscape.
And like any true winter-hater, I've been hibernating since New Year's Day. (Well . . . with exception of work, groceries, liquor store . . . etc. . . etc. . .) I can't even blame the weather. Not really. It hasn't been a particularly harsh winter. It's just been . . . winter. Grey and cold and damp and miserable.
But there is hope. Daylight Savings Time arrives this weekend and with it, more evening light and the promise of spring. And with spring comes the anticipation of weather warm enough to merit a return to the back deck/Halloween workshop.
So on an unseasonably warm late-winter day last week, I ventured out into the back yard for the first time in months to survey what winter had left behind and daydream about summer. When over in a corner between the deck and the back of the house, a flash of green caught my eye. It wasn't new plant growth; it was better. A leftover remnant of Halloween netting. It had somehow managed to survive the wind and snow by clinging desperately to a hardy shrub. It warmed my heart.
But not for long. The mild interlude ended, the snow returned, and so far, March has been wintrier than January and February combined. I've left the netting there. A beacon of hope in the late-winter landscape.