The ocean of snow, perfectly poised with precision- waves waiting to crash in on themselves when the skin kisses the vast expanse. But for now- seeds lay sleeping far beneath the icy waves.
|Hawthorn buds in waiting|
But the birches have birchkins...thats my word for catkins...because really they aren't cats, they are birches, and birchkins sounds more fun.
It is supposed to storm again this weekend, but could end up being rain, so instead of working today like I had planned ( had a list going even) I went outside. The first time in months it feels like. It really did take about 30 min to get dressed and get the snowshoes on and get the dog ready, but it was almost warm in the 25 degree sunshine. But the snow doesn't think so, nor do the poplar buds.
So here we are, all the plants, and all the herb folk still locked in winters icy reign- still sleeping, still hibernating, still awaiting the kiss of the sun prince to wake us from the 100 day slumber.