...make it be spring

Goodbye, February!  While I am shocked at how fast you came and went, I can't honestly say I'm sorry to see you go.  In spite of being the month of love, your cold temperatures, biting winds and never ending snowfalls did nothing to warm our hearts.  And I can't say that I appreciate the three inches of snow today that you are leaving as a goodbye gift! 

There is a little good news on the weather front, however.  I am taking weekly pictures from my windows as a spring countdown and there has definitely been some progress over the past few days.  Let's take a peek, shall we? 

1st week

In the backyard, you can see that there is less snow at the bottom of the beautiful fir tree.

2nd week

While in the front yard, check out my garden armillary at the right--you can now see all of its third section!

1st week

2nd week

1st week

And while a week ago my garden lamp was sporting a snow cap, it's now cap-free and you can see all of the floral metal design!

2nd week

So take these pictures as a sign that February did not defeat us...spring is on its way, slowly but surely!  I agree with poet Margaret Atwood...let's get going on a little optimism here and make it be spring!

February

Winter. Time to eat fat

and watch hockey. In the pewter mornings, the cat,   

a black fur sausage with yellow

Houdini eyes, jumps up on the bed and tries   

to get onto my head. It’s his

way of telling whether or not I’m dead.

If I’m not, he wants to be scratched; if I am   

He’ll think of something. He settles

on my chest, breathing his breath

of burped-up meat and musty sofas,

purring like a washboard. Some other tomcat,   

not yet a capon, has been spraying our front door,   

declaring war. It’s all about sex and territory,   

which are what will finish us off

in the long run. Some cat owners around here   

should snip a few testicles. If we wise   

hominids were sensible, we’d do that too,   

or eat our young, like sharks.

But it’s love that does us in. Over and over   

again, He shoots, he scores! and famine

crouches in the bedsheets, ambushing the pulsing   

eiderdown, and the windchill factor hits   

thirty below, and pollution pours

out of our chimneys to keep us warm.

February, month of despair,

with a skewered heart in the centre.

I think dire thoughts, and lust for French fries   

with a splash of vinegar.

Cat, enough of your greedy whining

and your small pink bumhole.

Off my face! You’re the life principle,

more or less, so get going

on a little optimism around here.

Get rid of death. Celebrate increase. Make it be spring.