I am currently experiencing a feeling that is alien to me. My fingers want to run outside and dive into the soil in our front yard. They are screaming to go out into the rare sunshine and till the soil. They want to do things like prune, pull weeds and plant things.
I’ve tried talking to them about it. I’ve pointed out that they really don’t know what they are doing. What if we pulled up something that’s supposed to be there? (OK, that was a weak argument as there is pretty much nothing there.) My hands seem to still hold the excitement of planting a few things last summer that actually lived for a while. “WE CAN DO IT!” they shout at me.
Hmmmm, maybe…but it’s still winter. It’s only the beginning of February, it’s still possible to get snow. The only argument against that is that Mother Nature seems to think it is spring, regardless of what Mr. Groundhog says. The bulbs that KT and her grandpa planted are pushing through and my trusty primrose has a little purple flower.
Maybe we’ll have a beautiful garden this year. After all, I have a couple aunts with beautiful gardens. It must run in the blood somehow. It’s possible. We can do it. OK, fingers…have at it!