Early Tuesday morning we got six wet, heavy inches of snow.
This is not unusual. My parents have dozens of slides taken during my childhood that feature bright
red tulips blooming out of the snow. Descendants of those tulips are just getting warmed up, plenty of more weeks with possible snow, but somehow it seems more like a personal affront this year.
So, I must be a good girl and count my blessings (or at least my blossoms).
My favorite exotic wildflowers are starting to bloom.
So is my birthday-present peach tree,
and the pears,
and Grandpa's cherry tree.
I have managed to write a short piece this week. It is a poem about writing poetry, which, as a genre, I find as annoying as those plays with plays in them. (Yes, I'm talking to you, Bill.) But here it goes--
this week's episode.
THE KNITTING comes along slowly. The skirt is monotonous and heavy. I have broken one needle on it so far and my arms feel like I have been lifting weights. When I finish, I will reward myself by knitting a lightweight, lacy cotton vest. I bought the pattern and yarn years ago. Mine will be in bright turquoise. By the time it is finished, I should be able to find a place I can model it in knee-deep flowers.