Friday, March 18, 2011


I can't wait for spring.
Don't get me wrong--I love winter. I love the cold and the snow and the smell of crisp, chilled air. I love hot tea and good books and snuggling down in a blanket. I love mounds of blankets in the bed and scaldingly hot showers to push the chill from your bones.
I love the feel of clean that winetr provides, of home, and hearth, and family.
But this year, for the first time, I feel the nudges of spring fever gripping me.
Since completeing the addition, I have wanted to plant flowers and watch new life spring from the soil at my behest.
I want the smell of roses and gardenias, the soft feel of lamb's ear, the crisp scent of cedar mulch.
I'm nesting, welcoming the new addition to our home like I would any lovely new being.
No, I'm not pregnant. I'm talking about the building addition.
I thill to see my crocuses peeking out, their sweet floral heads a welcome flash of color.
Not that I'm doing any of the planting. I will not ruin my manicure--are you absolutely daft?
Nope, The Man and the heathens are doing the work. I'm just frequenting home supplies stores and garden supplies, bringing home plants and pointing to their new homes.
But I know The Man wants them to bloom where they are planted as much as me.
Maybe that's it.
Maybe that's why I feel like rushing spring along this year.
Maybe I'm rededicating my inner hearth witch, reminding myself that, for now, I should bloom where I am planted.
Because right now, this is good.
Because, right now, this is right.
Right now, we are blooming.

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