Imbolc Waning Cold Moon
We have hoarfrost on fences, tree limbs, shed roofs. I looked out yesterday afternoon and it fell to the ground like snow from two big cottonwoods. Shrubs appear limned in light as the morning sun refracts through the hoarfrost on their branches. We have a white, soft landscape that carries the long shadows of morning in their full definition.
This February has been outspoken in its winter voice. The woodchuck in Pennsylvania saw his shadow, so we might have a February and early March filled with cold and snow. That’s ok with me.
I’ve been waiting for the gardening bug to hit me, usually it happens around New Years. It did a bit. I got a couple of seed catalogs and spent time sifting through them. Then, however, the feeling went away, submerged I guess by the unrelenting nature of this seasons winter. Kate says it’ll return and I hope she’s right. We’ve got a lot of garden that will need care soon, well, relatively soon.
Meanwhile I get messages from Mexico, Georgia, Singapore and Bangkok, places where winter either never happens or lands with a light brush. Watching Burn Notice last night I felt for the first time a pang of envy at the easy way the characters moved the Miami climate.
It’s been a busy time for me, something I generally embrace, but I also love downtime. I’d better not keep writing here or I’m going to write myself into a fit of melancholy, not what I want or need right now. So, Vale, amici!
