Rumour has it tomorrow is the first day of spring. It’s supposed to show up around lunch time.
I can only hope it makes a grand entrance because despite what the thermometer says, from my perch in front of my laptop, it doesn’t look like winter is giving up its iron grip on us. I feel like it’s pulling a Charlton Heston, taunting us with “From my cold, dead hands…”
Just go already.
And while I have enjoyed this first real winter that I’ve experienced since moving back to Ontario from the Prairies 12 years ago, there was one issue starting to give me severe cabin fever: the lack of anything green and fresh that was local. I long for those signs of green garlic or wild hairy bittercress, despite its hideous name, that I found in my garden around this time last year, and celebrated like the gift that they were.