It is the 18th of December in Northern Michigan and there are buds, some starting to open, on the lilac tree next to the deck. Our Star Magnolia has buds, too, and just might burst into a display of snow white flowers if this mild weather continues. So many plants are brandishing new growth--lavender, sage, thyme. I can't help but wonder how they will do come spring.
As I poked around the garden this morning, I saw open flowers on the scabiosa and gaillardia, and the California poppy will likely bloom today. Our lawn--what little we keep mowed--is greener, more lush, than it has been the last half of summer. For such a grey time of year, there is vibrant color if one looks closely.
It is a time of limbo--waiting for the snow to come (and inevitably go again) and waiting for the coming and going of the holidays. I page through my favorite seed catalogs to keep myself grounded when the world out there seems punch-drunk, out to lunch and addled. On days like today, when the smell of damp, rich earth overpowers the aroma of the cup of coffee I cradle in my hands, I want to do something physical. I want to dig around the ground, move stones and soil and pull out weeds, but I am held back by my aversion to cold, muddy knees and numb fingers.
So I cozy up in my little office with Blue and Sky (our parakeets) and chip away at a few writing projects. Paul has been digging into our next new culinary adventure. We are anxious and excited, and when it happens--when it moves from existing as an idea being tossed around and articulated by a group of friends into reality--it is going to be just right, Goldilocks.
