WinterWe’re sitting tight through another blizzard here. Despite the inconvenience, and all the difficulties that come along with them, I can still safely say that I really enjoy these days. The snow is coming at a forty-five degree angle now, which means the winds have died down from this morning. Visibility is better than it was, which is to say that I can actually look across the street to see my neighbors’ houses; and there was enough of a break to let the first murder of crows come looking for the food I set out on Monday – twenty of them that I counted, sitting in the red maple trees just outside our front door.

I’m working at the dining room table, with the AeroGarden’s soft but bright light over my right shoulder. We have our first sprout, a tiny bit of basil pushing its way through the Styrofoam faux-snow of its seed pod, and seeing that little hint of green is enough to send me into a full-blown grin. There’s life and growth and warmth within, it says, even as the ice collects on our gutters and mountains of virgin snow pile up like barricades along the side of our street.

I’m tempted by this weather. It sings to me to go out and do something, to shovel the walk or build some cryptic structure in the backyard again. Dares me to set something up for the elements or neighbor’s children to melt down and kick down, to blow up or blow away. Still, I’m on the clock, and the weather will have to wait. I’ll play this afternoon, I promise the skies, and hope that they keep blessing the ground with their deep embrace.