There’s still snow on the ground and when I wake up in the morning the sky is still inky black, the floor is cold enough to require at least one pair of socks and I’m still wearing three layers when I sit at my desk to write. But… it’s officially spring. Which mostly makes me grumpy because I’m expecting one thing, (not much, just a little warmth or sun), and I’m getting another – cold fingers, toes and ears – inside the house.
Then one weekend day, after coffee, cosy time with a good book and snuggling with my husband and girlies on the couch, I find myself a little antsy. And before I know it, the colorful, crumpled seed packets are out; the flimsy, black seed trays are filled with moist, potting soil and the house smells like dirt. It happens every year and every year I’m startled. It’s almost as if there is an internal switch that gets flicked and all of a sudden I’m in gardening mode. Whatever it is, I’m grateful. I get far more from touching dirt and green things than I could ever give back to them.
My thumbs are green again
© 2008 Baggywrinkle Publishing