Well, now that I am certain I am not going to die of this respiratory infection, I got up off my death bed this morning and took my dog for a walk in the sunshine.
Spring is flirting with us. The crocus are blooming everywhere. The daffodils look ready to pop, and now and then you get a hint of one of them beginning to open. I saw yellow on my neighbor’s forsythia bushes, and big fat buds everywhere, on everything. Tulip leaves are up, paving the way, along with the hyacinth leaves. Bulbs everywhere, in fact, are waking up.
While still cool, it is a bright sunny day. My husband readied the raised vegetable beds last weekend in a fit of spring fever, and this morning I planted peas, lettuce and spinach.
But I know what’s coming. More winter. Every February, we get teased with this fabulous weather. Usually it’s warmer and lasts for a couple of weeks. I expect that’s still to come. Last year it came early. But after that comes the fog and drizzle of March, the depressing disappointment after two weeks of spring’s promise. March, for me, is the hardest season to weather in the Pacific Northwest.
But today it’s good. And I know on the other side of March is April, with its wild and wonderful weather, and then I’ll be putting in the garden. That’s my favorite time of the year–well, one of them, anyway. This flirty time of year is kind of nice, too.