On Its Way . . .

The air was moist and warm this morning when we opened the front door. We opened up the kitchen window and enjoyed that indoor-outdoor feeling. After breakfast we went on a walking tour of our soggy backyard and found snowdrops scattered in the grass. Daffodils are peaking through, and tiny sweet woodruff is pushing up through the pine needles. The coral bells and hellebore are awake, and forsythia buds are swelling.
Not only that – we can hear a cardinal in the neighborhood, and occasionally a robin or two.
Spring may not quite be here, but it’s definitely on its way.

Not yet . . .

The colors say fall; the temperatures say summer.
I'm not quite to the point of longing for cool, cozy nights. I'm still enjoying having the bedroom window open at night so I can hear the tiny wrens twittering their morning news, and watch the breeze flutter the curtains. I'm still enjoying the sun warming the kitchen through the morning, and I'm still enjoying going outside without a jacket.
Still, leaves dance slowly down, lazily carpet the yard in orange, yellow, red.
Morning breezes cool and chill; squirrels struggle to bury nuts in a yard hardened by summer's heat. Hostas, geraniums, and even the rosemary look tired and worn; only the live-forever sedum seems pleased by these subtle changes in weather and mood.
We have to take a long view to enjoy change, and sooner or later, I'll be happy for cool, cozy nights. I'll take interest in creating savory soups and baking bread; I'll enjoy filling the house with good smells and warm light against winter's dark days.
But not yet.