My girls return home, a freak snowstorm blows through, and it’s Monday again—the last one in March and the start of Holy Week.
This morning I’m pondering taxes (ugh) and watercolour and words and books and dogs and the general topsy-turvyness that is 2021. Those, and a week like none other. And, in the midst of it all, Love.
I should start tomato seeds, but I’ve little motivation to do so. Maybe warmer temperatures later this week will give me the boost I need to pull out my gardening supplies. I should do a number of things and maybe I will, or perhaps not.
These are hard days, but there are glimmers of hope. It is spring, after all, the season of rebirth and new beginning. Yet there’s a part of me that wants to stay sequestered. There’s that push-pull between wanting to move and be still. To speak and remain silent. To laugh and to cry.
So, Monday. Here we go. We’re all stumbling through and doing the best that we can. Let’s extend grace.