I've been sitting here for several minutes, feeling the urge to post something, wanting to say something poetic and uplifting about what I see out my window right now. But I'm not up to the task. I've seen the scene too many times in the past 3 months. Feels more like 6. And there is still white stuff coming down. If I truly had the soul of a poet, I could find comfort and beauty in the scene. Like, say something about delicate dusting of pine trees with nature's frosting. Or the silent drift of countless snowflakes blanketing the lawn, covering up little yellow flowers that no longer stand a chance at making it to summer. Even confusing the robins, making them think they returned to the wrong latitude. I wonder if robins like frozen worms. We'll find out. To show you what an optimist I am, I dashed outside mid-week, when the sun was out and the temperature hovered in the high 60's, uncovered our deck furniture and arranged it to welcome Spring in all its glory. It's like throwing a big party and nobody comes. I should know by now: you don't do a thing for spring in St. Louis until mid-April. Still, with global warming in full swing, I thought, sure, we'll have an early spring. Notice I can't bring myself around to capitalizing S(s)pring every time. It's unworthy.
News flash: These photos are outdated. The snow is even deeper now. I think I'll listen to some music, pull out some old standards, like "Spring will be a little late this year," and "Spring can really hang you up the most." Yep, I'm hung up. That's what I'll do now.
