The ugliest season

Early Spring is the ugliest season.

In another month, the grass will be growing, daffodils will be facing their yellow heads to the sky, peas will be planted (even if only in a window box)

But right now all Mother Nature has to offer is a reminder of the clean-up I failed to do last fall. Our small parking spot is a swamp of dirty melted snow - My kingdom for a good pair of Wellies! The weather warms like the little engine that could (I think I can. . . I think I can . . .) and covers the basement floor with little rivulets of water. The yard that has been emptied of snow cannot be stepped on - any pressure will cause me to slip and tear out the fledgling new root system of grass.

You - the ones back in Washington - jealousy seethes through me. Your nightly temperatures match our daily highs. You have planted lettuce, spinach, kale. . .

Then the henlets called from the back step. They are so happy to be out of their winter yard. They cluck and call and scamper about.

And I am smiling again.

After all, the street are almost clear of snow. I stand on the back step, finishing my coffee. Then I take my bike out and go for a ride in the glorious sunshine.