And back to this blog. I was going great guns there for a while, but I got bored with my pictures and bored with my words and I figured if I was boring myself, G*d help you Sarah for reading it. But it's dark deep winter and other than waiting to see what the rodent in Puxatawny Pennsylvania has to say about the coming of spring tomorrow, I thought I'd try to write my way through the remainder of winter. Winter stopped being pretty a couple of weeks ago. We had a rain that took the snow off the trees and roofs, pitted and pockmarked the snow in the yard and exposed bits of trees and debris that had been buried under the snows of December and January. And now all the snow seems to have displaced itself to the central and southern Atlantic. All we have is cold. Relentless, bone gnawing, cold. The sun is out, which is a cruelty in intself. I look out the window and its so glorious and sparkly that of course, it must be crisp and beautiful. Not. Cold and windy. When the dog finds it too cold to pee, we just turn around and come back inside. I miss the outdoor walks, but I'm taking on the gym big time this winter, so at least I'm getting a workout, even if I'm sorely lacking fresh air. And I am feeling schizoid about even bringing up the lack of snow, because do I REALLY in my heart of hearts want to shovel more of it, or drive in more of it. Not particularly, no.
Will s/he see or not see her/his shadow? And does it matter? Spring Equinox follows in six weeks and like it or not, the back of winter is broken by then.
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