There's a sign on the garden centre on the old road into Chester Basin -- a countdown to spring. They open April 1st, greenhouses packed with seedlings and bulbs and dirt and everything else to make things bloom.
6 WEEKS is what it says now.
I can't imagine fertile dirt, let alone alone pregnant green. But the other day, cleaning up files from last year, I found weeds -- just weeds, not even anything worthy or pretty or edible -- and god, how it made me sigh.
I know the hammock's right around the corner from those weeds. I can hear the birds, and that light... oh, that light. I can imagine it's just after supper, still an hour or two of sunshine to go, the barbeque still smoking. The very best time to grab the camera and walk, or even just poke around in the backyard while the kids do their best to dig up and terrify unsuspecting bugs.
These days, everything is in hibernation. I want butterflies and peonies, the beach at Quaker Island, bare feet in grass and sand. My camera wants the same, that non-winter bounty of subjects and stories.
But we don't have it. Not for another six weeks. And so in the meantime, I hunt for colour and line and shape in bleakness. And you know what? I'm warming up to it. Are you?