My cat is snoring, old lady that she is. It’s raining steadily as well, adding inches when we don’t need it, though the roses might be glad for the store. Snowdrops are quietly poking through the winter dirt, and their blooms might appear in a month,or more likely, two. It is the season of invisible growth, roots spreading underground, and I watch for signs of anything in the garden. I wish I had planted witch hazel, to bring in color to my view. A viola bloomed but withered before I noticed, the balcony too cold to venture out.
The grey Cape Cod is famous for is in the sky. I am tired of January, and all the dreadful news. I have done my daily wordle and spelling bee. Unmotivated to bake even brownies, I glower at the weather. My car is disassembled in a garage, all of its parts spread out until Insurance gives the mechanics the go ahead to repair it. I purchase seeds for beets, melon, basil, hoping a friend has space under his lamps for a few extra pots.
The electricity bill has nearly doubled. The heater broke but got replaced. My sciatica is an unwelcome visitor, refusing to budge. February will come and go in a blink of an eye, and come March,I will wish again for days like these, so thick and unmoving, a block of time I can’t see over.