Come walk with me in the sunshine, distant memories of warmth on our faces. Fingers no longer cold, layers no longer needed. Winter's icy tentacles loosened, grasp slipping
Watch it sent back in despair to a dark and dismal cave, fit only for the cold beast. Spring step forward in Winter's place, let us greet you with wonder, dance with us among the new purple crocus.
You know when you've not been yourself, and you start to feel a bit better? So you are inspired to go and do something, and it feels so good to do anything at all, that you kind of over do it?
Even when the little voice inside of your head says… "don't do that, you're going to be sorry." And even though you know for certain that the next day you are going to pay for it, but you just don't care?
Because the sun is shining, and there are honest to goodness green things coming up between the dead leaves.
And that feathered bulge on the branch might even be a Robin singing it's heart out.
You have to do something, and it's not gardening if you just wander around the yard is it?
So you go and do what you are not supposed to be doing.
Which is gardening.
But you lie to yourself, telling that inner voice,"I'm not raking, I'm just…planning."
Yes planning the garden.
That's what I am doing. Not planting. Nope, oh no not me…just moving this teeny tiny little plant a wee bit over. Because I'm planning.
The garden.
With that you squish the teeny tiny voice in your head like a bug. And you tell it," I'm not bending, not me." "I'm…well, I'm squatting." "It's squats…millions of people do those all the time." "Some of them actually like it, and now I know why." You tell the squeaky little voice in your head,"I kind of like exercise, everything is going to be fine."
And then you wake up the next morning.
You can't move. And everything hurts, things you didn't know could hurt, do.
Blame it on the squeaky little voice who should have known better, and the squats.
Because YOU, weren't gardening. I'm going to wait until next week to unpack those boxes at www.thelightlaughed.com I haven't moved over there just yet.
I still love being Jane@Muddy Boot Dreams, so for now I will be keeping my social media sites the way they are, and using the new name for the blog until things get organized.
Spring! It’s undeniably happening around here, there are signs everywhere. Flashes of pink, shots of green, streaks of sunlight. Today it’s more rain, but we know that March would go out like a lion. And April is coming in with a passion. Speaks Everywhere I go, there is another sign, the super hot pink Magnolias near the veggie store are bursting with secrets, looking like pink elephant popcorn on a stick. The Boo is spooked by the merest whisper of wind, and runs with his tail up, pure joy in his motions. And yes, he is slightly lighter in his step, the diet is working. Silence That’s why sometimes it’s good to just be still for a moment. And let spring speak to you. Do you hear it?
Sometimes a picture, [or four], is worth a thousand words…
Or in this case 500 words.
I’ve been rather wordy lately.
And thought you might like to see more images then words this time.
Enjoy.
Taken with my cell phone camera…
If you are interested there are some more photos on my Instagram site, click on the icon on my sidebar.
I woke up this morning.
Now that’s always a really good thing.
Trust me.
But I had a hangover, and I don’t drink.
So that’s not a good thing.
I woke up at 4 am, and 4:30, and 5 am, and 5:30, and 6 am.
You get the picture don’t you, my head hurts.
They say it’s spring, I don’t believe them, except.
The alarm clocks are well wound, and working fine.
First we have the Bootsie clock at 4 am.
And every half hour or less after that it chirps, chimes, meows, pings, knocks stuff down off of the furniture, scratches on the door. Jumps on my head…
We might need to upgrade to a quieter model.
Say one that automatically puts itself in the garage at 4 am.
Then the crows start, the cawing the complaining, the screaming, oh what neighbours they make, they have issues. We have to up the rent in those trees outside of our bedroom windows, to see if we can get better tenants.
The furnace was on at night which means despite the time of year, it’s probably snowed, again. And the roaring noise and sparks was from the snowplough getting more overtime this season.
Phil the flirting pheasant was pecking at the shiny bumper on the truck, peck, peck, peck… he’s in territorial mode who’s that other handsome bird he sees… there are no photos, it was dark outside.
The robins trill, that’s one alarm clock I love to hear… they can leave holes in the lawn everywhere, they make up for it by singing so beautifully.
But then the eagles start in and everyone is tense… fly by breakfasts are only good when you are not on the menu.
The doves start to coo, the owl stops hooting, the chickadees are complaining that I still haven’t cleaned out the bird house from the last rental tenant… but it’s cold outside, because it was spring, and then suddenly it wasn’t. But no one thought to tell the cat, or the birds.
My head hurts… I’m going back to sleep, wake me when it’s really spring.
Even if you only have even the teeniest bit of creativity in you, spring is your season. All this renewal, green spaces filling with blooms, bare branches swiftly changing, it’s inspiring. Spring triggers creativity in us artistic types, it nags, it prompts, it encourages, “do something, change something, create something. Maybe that’s why many of us are gardeners. We can see a direct correlation between our vision and reality. Plant a seed, grow a plant, watch it bloom. Then draw, or photograph the flower and you have a lasting image of what was only a flitting thought previously. Photography for me is the ultimate fulfillment of a creative urge, a artistic bent that has molded me for as long as I can remember. I truly feel like my balance is centered when I am creating something. Inspiration is a thrill, I love how my mind goes through a rabbit warren, twisting and turning creating, inventing, and discarding ideas. Spring feels like the scale has moved back towards the middle, and my balance is achieved once again. Jane.
Bright lime colored garden clogs clip along the path wondering where the snow went so suddenly. No more slipping, cold feet, spring is a delight. Cat drifts between my legs, playful, warming black, skittish in the sun. Sniffs deep of something mysterious, dirt scattered high, rolling in the dry gardens under the pine.
Birds swoop by, waving hair, seed scattered on the ground feverishly pecked. Unwelcome Crows caw in the trees, territorial, new, jangling the neighborhood. The mind planning, sunning, thinking, reminding. No twisting, no weights lifted, stretch in the warm sun. Not the time for gardener's boot camp. Patience that those weeks of moving tender shoots, and scattering of seeds will wait until later. Try my patience, turn my resolve. This gardener yearns to plant. To think.
To dream of fashioning something beautiful out of nothing, with dry soil, and tiny seeds.
Trees burst overnight with buds. Swelling not just in bodies. Weeds appear to laugh at efforts to shake them free with feet, determined to stay, and thrive. Cat crouches, furry bottom wiggles, streaks across the lawn, birds scatter. Children's laughter drifts behind him across the grass. Weeds still remain.
For now. Plot, dream, wander. Through garden beds. Weeks will run, time will out, the garden will still be there. Sun warm, fingernails dirty, trowel in hand, it will wait. Time will heal,the garden is impatient. And so am I.
Jane@Muddy Boot Dreams On a Wednesday: Slivers of moments captured in a weekly post, evolving, descriptive, a memoir of life.
PS: A big thank you for your supportive, and understanding comments, it's been a journey, but I am hopeful that things will get back to normal as my back heals. And yes, my fingers are itching to get back into the garden, but that has to wait a little while.
You know the phrase, into every life, a little rain must fall? It seems like we are getting our share of wet right now. The downward turn in the economy is hitting us just like everyone else. Between cutbacks, and job losses many of us are feeling the pinch. It won't last forever, I know that.
But I am hoping that these"spring rains," will result in a more beautiful garden. We will weather the storm.
After all, what is a garden without rain? And how are you going to know the good times, if you never experience the bad?
Spring is sleeping.
The deep, long relaxation of the innocent.
Childlike curve to her cheek, not to be woken yet.
We wait on the frozen ground, hoping to see her stir.
Eager to start the day, the month, the season with her…
Hoping that she will be in a good mood when she wakes.
We hold our breath when she turns over in her sleep.
And watch the snow flurry down when only minutes before there was sun.
Discontented sighs from her sweet breath make rain clouds burst.
Birds try valiantly to wake her by singing only the softest notes, but it’s not working.
They need to nest, to start the cycle, hungry, and cold they wait.
Worried.
Wake up Spring, the ground needs your tears to grow, the trees need your warm breath to bud, and release their leaves.
Winter won’t leave until you wake up, packed in among the drifts that refuse to melt, like a cross bear in hibernation.
Lurking behind shadows, cold, damp, and dirty. It’s time to let him go back to where he lives the best.
You’ve slept long enough… Summer will be waiting soon for her chance to shine.
Wake up.
It’s official. Spring is here. Let’s celebrate!
Jen.
Rustling birds disturbed by progress down the rural road fly by, flicking from branch to branch. Soon there will be nests, eggs and chicks. Life moving in circles.
My heart swells when I see the mountains bearing less snow, spring is arriving. Bleeding hearts, red stems shaded, cold, but determined to grow through the soil.
Pink blossoms give me a heart shaped thrill. Ferns unfurling, hairy, and brown, green hidden deep, soon to show. Hosta striped stems swirl from the ground, poking, pushing. Buds breaking, no spilled tears. Branches ripening, reviving.
Come spring! Come warm weather! Leave, snow covering the brooding mountains. Bring shine, and laughter to our world. Reach deep into my gardener's heart, and make it swell. PS: If spring has not reached your part of the world, I will send a wish that it will come soon.
I wrote and scheduled this post last week, and completely to my Gardener's embarrassment forgot that it was the first day of spring today. There's a pretty good reason why, and I will be sharing that along with a few other things on Monday's post, see you then.
Those last few days when winter blows.
Harsh, unpredictable… unforgiving.
Make you realize that although spring is hovering nearby, winter will not give up yet.
Winter is upon us, snow flakes larger ending up on the ground than any others we have seen all season.
White ground, frozen water, gloomy skies.
And then suddenly it will change.
The sun will come out, snow melts away.
Birds sing with such a force it’s easy to disbelieve that winter was even here.
Outside the doors, a feathered orchestra tunes up, each player trying to drown out his competition.
Harmoniously out of tune… bird song is never harsh.
Flying, hopping, fleeing, jumping, dashing, spring is in their hearts.
It’s made them mad, and not in anger.
A cacophony of trilling, cawing, calling, chirping, singing.
Cat’s roam, they know that the birds are careless this time of year.
Sullen eagles perch on dead trees, all the better to see you my dear fine feathered friends.
Hawks visit feeders left alone the rest of the year.
Deer search the yard for green grass, and are as disappointed as I.
But the feathered ones sing, call, and hope.
Winter may be upon us, but spring is waiting.
Winter has returned to the dark hole it hibernates in to avoid the other seasons, the snow is nearly gone.
It feels as if it was never here. Invigorated by the warm breeze, we, and I use the term we loosely, had just finished raking the entire yard. And surveyed the cleaned up brown patches flecked with emerging green with a sense of accomplishment. One item ticked off of the spring cleanup list. A hour later the wind rose up in a fury.
Gust swayed the tall Fir trees, cracking branches with a terrible bangs, blowing dust, gusting from every direction. The tidy landscape changed to a full on scattering of enormously long branches impaling the soft ground as they fell from 40 feet up. Too dangerous to stay outside we retreated inside. And watched with dismay as all of our hard work was undone.
We were out there too soon, and have to cleanup once again. We could view it as a chore, something that had to be done, reversed in a matter of hours. But in that sweet moment we were living life, the warmth of sunshine on our pale seasonal skin, air fresh in our lungs as we called out to neighbors walking by. The breeze mingling in the strands of our hair, jackets thrown to the ground, green blades of grass revealed with each raking, that moment can't be taken away from us. Laura at Simple Serene Living wrote a encouraging post about bookmarking life, living the moment as it comes. It made my heart sing, and it was a good reminder, despite our best intentions, we sometimes rush through life, missing moments when they come by. Being outside in the spring sun, that was a"bookmarked" moment that made the work worth while, despite the outcome. Do you find yourself rushing, ticking off items on your to do list, or do you tend to live each moment as it comes? I think it's truly hard to keep living in the moment, but oh, when you do…it's sublime.
PS:
My move to Word Press, and a new URL, is on the back burner for the next little while. That's OK, because thanks to Brenda at Cosy Little House, I just figured out how to resize my images properly, so I will have some time to practice. Like the spring storm, life can have a way of throwing things at you. You have to be able to move with it, stay flexible, and move forward, so that's what I'm doing here. The new URL will go live, just not this week, or maybe not the next week either. I'll make sure to let you know what to expect when we are once again, closer to that date. For now I am encouraging you to live those fleeting moments, things change rapidly in life. More PS's: Have you checked out our The Over 40 Blogging World facebook group? If you are over 40, it's a wonderful place to hang out with fellow bloggers who are supportive, and passionate about blogging. And…one last thing. My World Wednesday isn't on for this week, look for my next post on Friday, see you then.
It’s lacking in subtly…
The ground bares it’s dark grin from under the trees.
Opens it’s mouth to show the slow decaying of the snow.
Fields patchy with pearly white, speckles of winter, fir needles, dust, fallen branches. Pretending to be open and honest, but hiding ground h ardened with ice, rocks unmovable, abandon the rake for today. Foolish gardener, dragging out tools, gloves, and hope. A long winters rest soon to be broken, but today, no fingers in the dirt.
Sun warms the skin, breeze cools it down, walk it off.
Forecast that varies from day to day, inaccurate by so many degrees no one pays attention to it anymore. Winter jacket, scarf, gloves one day, change to t-shirt, tank tops, shorts the next.
Bare winter white legs, not yours, glowing like florescent worms, blinding eyes, sunglasses needed, and not just for the sun. Can’t see where you are walking, don’t fall off of the road.
Dogs frolic at gates, when only last week they chased snow from the blower. Watch where you walk, roadside messes, no one picks up after them. Stinking treasures long hidden under melting snow.
Birds fly, worms in mouth, stark branches easy to perch on.
Stock up, there’s a sale on twigs, and there are nests to be built.
Pairing off, deciding who’s to stay home with the chicks, and who will go out and work.
Trees feel a stirring deep in their roots, sap warms and migrates. Buds swell with the increased light.
Snow still hides new shoots of grass, ice coats shaded ditches while water melts, and runs in full sun.
Black bird clinging to bull rush sings such a haunting melody you cannot help but stop and listen, twined among the heart, tugging so softly it’s ages before you realize it’s stopped. Play that again you ask, and he does, it’s as beautiful as you remembered, he does well at Natures version of the dating game.
Floating whispers of fuzz from deconstructed cat tails line a nest, pulled by a bird so small it hardly shows up. Massive in attention to detail, only the softest parts for it’s new nursery.
Sheep watch from across the field, the ram at full attention, it’s his flock, and you are the interloper. Go away, nothing to see here he tells you, unfriendly woolly creature not at all like Mary’s little lamb.
Cows, milk chocolate, and dark brown, stare out of the door of the red barn, languidly chewing cud. The smell of manure fresh on the air, pungent is too soft a description for it’s strength after a long winter inside.
No muskrat available to come for tea in the stream today. Woodpecker drills new holes in the poplars that hang out by the stream. Pussy willows soft grey cushions, just out of reach of finger tips, icy slopes make wet feet less appealing.
Horses stand, three down, fourth up, no tipping over here, sleepy, ignoring your sweet nothings, no food in your hand, go home.
The long stretch of road that leads to home, fields of farm animals on one side, golden grain to be grown on the other. Chicken barns reflect the light from the mountains, eagles watching for clean out days from the park nearby.
Walk the last few blocks slowly, make them last as long as possible… acknowledge the sun, smell the scent of spring, feel a deep stirring in the soul.
It’s spring, and it’s calling to you.
This was a post that I wrote almost a year ago.
Because it still makes my heart beat faster, I thought I would tweak it a bit, and share it with you again.
Here’s to a early spring wishes for everyone.
“Come here,” she whispered… her soft voice carried over the snow banks.
“Feel the sun warm your skin, listen to the bird’s song. Loosen your winter jacket, take off that sweater. Unwind that scarf. I have something to say to you, and it’s important.”
“I want you to dance among the wet moss in the lawn.
Watch the fir cones fall onto your truck with the resounding plunk of a musical note.
Know that you will be cleaning up the lawn… again.”
“Did you forget to lime?”
“Too bad,” she coo’s…
”it’s going to rain, and the grass will grow, you will be lamenting not having seeded
when you could.”
“But don’t worry,” she says, “you will too busy counting new green leaves to feel bad about it.”
“Poking the dark earth to see the tiny sprouts of green, and listening to the bird song early in the
morning as the sun wakes up before the alarm.”
“You will be gazing on the setting sun, as it glows in the west… bathing clouds in pearly dust.”
Her trilling laughter echoes through the neighbourhood, among the garden tools. rakes, and piles of pruned branches waiting to be picked up.
It’s picked up by the birds, and carried by the Ravens far into the mountains where the deer have gone.
Spring whispers her promise to us not caring what tomorrow brings.
She knows that fickle as she is, it’s up to her.
No matter if we complain of snow, just days before her arrival, or turn our faces towards the ever increasing warmth of the sun, it’s on her agenda.
And so we dance to her tune, turn our ears toward the bird song, listen for the sound of buds swelling, sap rising, the rustle of ground thawing, knowing that spring will keep her promises, but on her own time.
Come soon spring.
Spring seeks to fulfill it's potential.
As s now blowers hibernate, and neighbors appear.
Heavier, older, happier.
Trees stretch, bees swarm in harmonious black clouds, honeyed splendor in a wooden crate. Fields thaw, flood, fill.
Dust flies, buds swell. Ducks speckle the fields like crumbs of a cookie dashed to the floor.
Cat stricken with unknown fever, rolls, runs, jumps, and suns as birds watch from trees.
Window cracked.
Open
Sounds of nature's symphony crawl in through the screen as night comes on to fill it's shift.
Tiny frogs croak, calling to mountains that glow with the last light.
Geese, and ducks, honk, quack in formation, carried on the soft breeze.
Spring arrives softly.PS: Just in case you missed it, I'm moving from Blogger to Word Press at the end of this week. So Muddy Boot Dreams new home will be at www.thelightlaughed.com.
You can read about it here.
I really look forward to seeing you there, and hope that you will come along to see my new home.
Maybe I can get you to help unpack some boxes when you come to visit. And have you seen our new FaceBook group, The Over 40 Blogging World, that Laura from Simple and Serene Living, and I created? The response has been overwhelming wonderful. It's a great group of friendly bloggers getting together for support, and learning. Please check us out. Jen
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Although we are in the month of March, and daylight savings time has come to us, spring seems to be in limbo.
Back east, they are celebrating with warmer than average temperatures, signs of green, and snow melting. Here on the West Coast, we are bracing for a freezing -7 overnight cold spell.
This is not the way it is supposed to be. We are the ones who get the warm spring, not them. We are the ones who send the pictures of golfing in our shorts, it is us who get to show the daffodils first. Spring come out, come out, where ever you are. Our crocus are up, the snowdrops are still hovering over the frozen soil, the sun is shining, alternately it is hailing, or snowing. As I write this, it is both sunny, and flakes of snow are drifting down. Spring please come out of hiding, we need to see you.
Other people are tiptoeing through their thawing gardens searching for signs of spring, peering under bushes, smoothing back soggy brown leaves from under gently budding branches, but that’s not us. We’re still slipping and sliding in a rapidly melting cover of white slimy stuff that seems to have coated every inch of brown lawn. Our weather people are still gleefully describe the weather as wicked, and bitter, and we don’t even live in the frigid part of Canada.
We judge spring’s immanent arrival by the cessation of the oncoming rumble of the snow plow. It’s loud grumble shaking windows, and tipping paintings on walls, red sparks flying 12 feet into the air from the contact of a metal blade on a dry road.
Up here we prepare for spring by watching for snow tire removal specials to show up in our local paper, and look for “remove chains to avoid fines” signs to be posted on the highways. That’s when we know it’s really spring.
Our first spring up here we were puzzled to see neighbours emerging onto what had been in the winter a deserted street, and raking piles of dark sandy gravel from their front yards. It was only when maintenance crews drove by picking up the gravel that we understood. The sand and gravel that is spread here is counted in the thousands of tons, per month… not like the coast where a truck load lasted all winter. And the accumulation on your lawn can run in the inches.
When the glass replacement companies start to offer chip repair, and windshield replacement times are booked solid, that means it’s almost spring. It is now safe to book the annual windshield replacement and hope that it lasts through the fall.
It’s a far cry from being one of the first to find the snowdrops in my secret place on the coast in January, gleefully emailing photos to every contact I could think of, smirking over the relative lack of snow in our previous climate. Don’t they say no good deed goes unpunished.
In response to my lamenting the lack of snow drops, my husband merely told me “there are lots of snow drops out there, a whole yard full of them falling from the sky. Just not the kind that I was looking for darling.
We know spring is coming when we start to get a early morning 4 am wake up call consisting of cawing, and screaming, as newly returned crows defend previous summer territories despite the foot of snow. Phil the pheasant is feeling frisky, flirting, trying to talk to the hens into a starring role on “ My 5 wives.” Our purchase of bird seed, and suet goes from two or three mega bags at a time to a more sedate ordinary sized bag once a week.
As the convocation [yes, a group of eagles is called a convocation] of eagles start to find food in places other then the rank smelling manure piles of deceased chickens from the commercial chicken farms down the road, we know that Bootsie, our cat can go outside unescorted. As long as someone keeps a eye out for bears, or raccoons in the backyard, or the newly emerging mosquitoes don’t carry him off.
When our pristine mountain water turns cloudy, and suddenly smells of chlorine, we know that it’s spring time, and the water turbidity has forced the township to revert to wells temporarily.
Big changes compared to where I used to live, would I move back, never. Yes my snowdrops come in liquid form now, but think how many I have… more then I would ever have if I still lived by the ocean.
My spring comes a little later, but it’s just as blissful.
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Cold ground, morning light.
Horses stamp their hooves. Breath shows, sun creeps through the trees. 5 below zero in my world.
Above the little town.
Sunshine glimmering through a mist of fog while it cuddles the mountains. Hail, sleet, snow waves farewell. Blow March winds, blow. 22 degrees warmer in a few days. White fields, geese flying in formation, honks calling from the sky.
Eagles gathering to feast. Busy highway, big trucks whirl, black wheels noisy.
Dark clouds drop hail, then snow, as it's whisked away with the wind.
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Short ride to shed the cold, watch the temperature climb.
6 degrees of Celsius separation.
To the almost big city. Engine purrs as it crests the mountain ridge. Eyes flicker following familiar landscapes, barns, fields, trees, roads and ending in intersections. Almost there. A flurry of shielding our eyes against a bright sun, yellow light glimmering off of puddles on the melting lake. Streetlights, stop signs, winter temperatures warm. Short skirts, bare legs, peek out from under winter jackets. Foolish young things maneuver melting snow piles, gliding by as fast as their goose bumped legs will allow them. Winter layers shed like feathers flying everywhere. Dust flies, vehicles pass. Heart song, deep breath finally, leave the city behind.
Regret, or forget, there's always another trip.
Head towards home. Engine ticks, bags unpack, cat meows. Sunlight stretches golden fingers trying to sneak a store bought cookie off of the kitchen counter. Home again. Breathe deep.
P.S. Aren't you glad that you read all the way to the bottom of this post? Laura, from I'm So Vintage, and I have something that we are working on together, and we will fill you in on that in the near future. I think it's exciting! Be sure to drop by on Friday to find out what I have in store for this blog…hint, it's not just a move.
I’m running a little far behind in the last few weeks.
Still heavily into delete mode, with 40,000 of my over 60,000 images deleted, or reorganized.
Not quite done yet.
There are a few things I’ve noticed when I lift my eyes from the computer screen.
By the time…
By the time I realize it’s been a hour I’ve most likely deleted a couple of thousand shots.
And there are still many more to be done.
The housework isn’t finished, the dinner isn’t planned, and Boo is hungry again.
By the time I realize it’s late and I haven’t written a blog post, it’s the next day.
All of this deleting is making everything slow because it’s reorganizing itself internally, at least that’s what it tells me. I have no idea, I just know it’s still backing up on Google backup, it’s been a long week.
I seem to have deleted something in my files, my social media icons along with some headers on my blog have been missing, it’s on my list, I’ll get to it one day. Just have to finish deleting more photos.
By the time you forget to write a new post a couple of times, it’s easier, and easier to play hookey.
So that’s how that slippery slope gets so slick.
By the time I realize that there are comments piling up in my inbox from over 3 days ago, it’s almost embarrassing to have to start the reply with… I’m sorry for taking so long to get back to you. I’ve always tried to read your blog posts, and return your comments within a day or two.
By the time that I am done this I will have to pick up the camera and take some photos again, it’s been a week, and I miss my camera. The uninspiring brown and white landscape has taken it’s toll on my creativity, it’s lurking in there somewhere, don’t worry about that.
Oh do I crave some color.
By the time I get back to regularly posting, and reading so many exciting things will have happened in blog land that it will take days of reading just to catch up. You’ve got a what? You did that? How on earth, well, my goodness…
By the time I got back to sleep after a thoughtful neighbour decided to ride his snowmobile up and down the fields here at 4 AM on a Sunday morning, it was almost 7, and my day had started once again.
And the best of all,
By the time I am done.
I’m hoping that this tail end of the polar vortex is nothing more then a distant memory, and spring is hiding around the corner. I need spring, you need spring, we all need spring. These freezing cold temperatures, and snow are really wearing thin now… it’s March, let’s bring on some better weather for everyone. Stay warm, and keep that spring hope burning in your heart.
