It’s another cold, grey-brown morning in St. Louis, with an expected high today just above freezing.
The light is better today, I can see the sky, and it is blue. The trees are sticks (but I can feel the saucer magnolias about to open) and the heater chugs away, keeping us alive and somewhat dessicated. I long to open the windows and doors. Elsewhere (most notably at my own house) there is sunshine and sparkle, warmth and good light. Doors are open.
Soon, though, any day now, it will be spring, and the trees will flower and the squirrels will outscamper the creep of the rime. In fact, when I return in March, I can say with assurance, “There will be flowers.”
The time here flows like a sticky little river, slowly at first, then in a way that melts one day into the next. I will have been here for a week today, which mystifies me. I had no idea. Bill is on the East Coast right now, reviewing a few days worth of proposals for NASA. When he comes home at the end of the week, I’ll flee, I’ll fly, I’ll kiss him fondly and return to the sunshine and the blue sky, and finish finishing my book.
It shouldn’t be long now… things are going beautifully.
Squirrel photo by Matt McGee, Creative Commons license