February doldrums. Do you ever sit quietly, watching the rain, wondering what the hell is happening? It can’t just be me. Right? I could understand this precipitation were I living in, say, Seattle, but I swear those good folks in the northwest may have received more snow this year than me and that pisses me off. One single word comes to mind. Depressing. The cold virus that plagues me isn’t helping, either. I’m cranky.
I write this knowing that a potential storm will move just south of here this Sunday and the meteorologists are so dying for a good winter story that they are playing on this low probability scenario as an actual possibility. Snow. Oh, they torment me. I am a sucker.
Flowers are blooming here… the snowdrops are long gone. Daffodils have their flower heads tucked among the slender leaves waving from my front flower bed. The tulips, too, are forging ahead finding sun when clouds ease. My butterfly bushes have new leaves, as do the lilacs and tree peony. Witch hazel is nearly passé. I’ve had fresh mint in my garden and parsley in a pot on my porch without interruption. I worry for the state of the world. We are a month early with a great deal of plant activity and so now I’m torn. If it really does snow with purpose, what happens to our spring? My hope is the flowers and plants can handle it. I think they can. I think they can. And so I will play along and hope. I’ll let you know how that all works out, but I'm not holding my breath. 
Spring moves north and up the topographic map earlier and earlier at a faster and faster pace. Perhaps if the storm passes without incident I’ll plant some spinach out there and see what happens. It may be a year without a winter.
