Twitters and twatters, that soft sweet chatter hangs aloft in the trees. Birds? Can it be? Or perhaps I am hallucinating. -20C (-4F) too many days in a row will freeze the mind as much the fingers. But no, I'm sure those songs are real. March has arrived and while my bones have brittled themselves to crips these past long snowy months, the birds are back. They know something I cannot fathom. Too stuck am I in the throws of chapped skin on lips and multiple pairs of slippers at the bedside.
Crackling voice over the radio waves claims it will be 8C (46F) on Friday. I can hardly imagine what that kind of warmth could do to a soul. . . . eight glorious degrees of sun-kissed sponge for the breathing, all those frozen particles set free to enter our systems and set us on the joyful road toward . . . SPRING. One can hope.
1 comment:
Mmm. The joy of spring. Hope you manage to warm up those bones soon.
You should come visit me in the tropics.
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