This week in Kansas, spring is calling and I don’t want to go! This is very unusual for me. At one time, at the very first hint of warm weather, I was browsing seed catalogs and planning my new additions to the yard.

Spring is coming, way too soon for me. I want to cuddle up beside a fire and watch the snow blow outside my window. The visual beauty of drifts deepening, tree limbs laden with white frosting, and blustery skies is very appealing right now.

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I think I must be sick.

Today will be in the mid-seventies once again. The birds are chirping joyfully as they swing on the bird feeder. Their little chat groups are meeting in my olive shrubs, red cardinals dotting the small branches.

As I look out my back door, I see hedges desperately in need of trimming once again. My northern Hibiscus has dwindled down to only a few stalks, my American Beauty climbing rose died last winter and still needs to be removed. The Angel Face climbing rose on the opposite side of the leaning trellis has green shoots exploding everywhere. The stone terrace is still only half-finished and my little pond is filled with slimy water. These tasks are what meet my eye, and it makes me feel sad and old. Old because the work seems overwhelming these days, and sad because the motivation is not there.

No, it’s not a big deal in the broad spectrum of life. And believe me, there are items that need to be taken care of in the house that are even more important. But this post is suppose to be about gardening, and the outside, not the inside projects.

So, today I’m going to think about winter, because we really haven’t had any this year so far. Not in my opinion anyway. I think we had flurries a couple of times, and nothing really on the ground for long.

This afternoon, I’m going to picture my little pond with the surrounding of limestone, blanketed with white. The birds will be chirping in the silence of a winter day, their colors stark against the blustery, gray sky and drifting snowflakes. I will visualize trees with dark branches covered in white, waiting for new leaves. In my dreams I can think of the bulbs, cozy and warm under the soil, waiting to poke out little green shoots into the springtime sun.

But I will be sitting beside a warm, crackling fire, sipping a cup of something dark and delicious. I may even pull out a gardening catalog, and dream just a little bit about the warmer, to stay, days ahead. But just a little bit.

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