This is to say nothing against afternoons, evenings or even midnight. Each has its portion of the spectacular. But dawn — dawn is a gift.
Mary Oliver, Long Life: Essays and Other Writings
Dawn is, indeed, a gift and it’s coming later since we turned our clocks back last weekend. The time change is also putting guilt on with my desire to don PJs late in the day—a habit I acquired in the dark months of winter. Change is coming gradually this year.
The crocuses in the front flower bed continue to happily greet me when I step outside with Maya. I sowed a short row of spinach near them after reading an article that said blooming crocuses are a sign that it’s time to plant spinach. (I plant spinach in the community garden in the fall—it’s the first taste of spring—but my plot is still covered in snow. If we can enjoy an earlier spinach salad courtesy of my flower garden, it’s worth a shot.)
The raised bed kitchen garden in the back yard is gradually starting to lose its snow blanket. I’m sorely tempted to wade out there through the snow and throw some spinach and radish seed in the ground. We’ll see.
Meanwhile, in the house, I noticed late yesterday that the basil is starting to germinate; a pot or two might lose its plastic greenhouse-like covering and go under the lights today.
Small steps. Inching forward. Spring in just a few days.
And so it goes.
# # #
A sushi lunch date with Gerry.
Bookstore browsing time.
A freshly painted bedroom.
Pulling out my ballet flats. (Buh bye socks.)