It’s April 20 and, here in southern Saskatchewan, we’re under a snowfall warning for the third day in a row. It looks more like January than April outside. One could become discouraged if not for an unrelenting faith that spring will eventually show up. We determined earlier that it wasn’t worth the risk of driving to Caronport to take Makiya to school. Rural school buses aren’t running; neither is the grandparent bus.
Gerry busies himself putting up shelves for me to store canvases on. Makiya takes a hot bath to ease her plugged sinuses. I tap out words here and think about a small writing project I am going to start. Soon, I’ll settle in my wing chair with my iPad to read a new publication that landed on my desk. Being a writer means unapologetically taking time to read is a must-do. It’s a perk.
Earlier, I went downstairs to turn on the grow light for the plants I started a couple of weeks ago when spring fever caught hold. Growing green cotyledons, the epitome of promise, reach farther toward the light every day. Soon the true leaves will appear and peppers, tomatoes, and Thai basil plants will be easily identifiable.
When I was down there, I spied the prettiest thing on the windows. Art, crafted by the Creator using snow and wind, in this spring when winter refuses to release its grip. I took a photo with the camera on my phone that captures the essence but leaves much to the imagination. I stood for a while, allowing myself to get lost in the beauty of wind-blown snow on a window and thoughts of the Divine crafter who left the gift there for me to discover.