The leaves are changing from potato-skin brown to a pea-pod green.
The CrockPot has been turned up, hotter and hotter. Condensation collects on the lid and rains down from the clouds. Cover it up with towels, keep the warmth in. Inversion does nicely to keep up the heat. The sky has been unenthusiastically simmering all winter, now the clouds are roiling in the frothing blue. Some snow sometimes salts the grounds in a mercurial show of defiance.
Instead of a chili wind, we have lukewarm stew. Snow is melting into slushy soup, and newly turned dirt, the color of fudge brownies, is not nearly as delicious as it’s rich color suggests. Worms romp about in the batter, while rain sprinkles the world. Little frosting mounds are bursting in brilliant green buds. Industrial buildings keep burning on just like candles. Our chapped noses and watery eyes are snuffed out by the breezes, a collection of scents mixed together like a brisk bisque.
The apricot tree gives a stunning impression of popcorn as little buds burst from their shells. I’m excited to see the butterflies spread over so many flowers, from the toaster as I spread my margarine. Brave blades of green slice through the soil like so many knives on a quest for sunlight. I put my own spoon in the ground to aerate the soil. Soon, this trowel will dig up food I can eat at the table, with smaller spoons than this spade.
I like rattling the seeds around in their packets. This will be carrots. These will be tomatoes. And my favorite, the heart beets. My own heart pulses in time with nature. Time to pull out my gardening gloves. Mix the dirt (if only there were a KitchenAid for that), add the seeds. Fold in fertilizer and water with the best spatula you own, your hands. Bake with sunlight.
Soon, soon, the tell-tale signs of green with reveal themselves to the sunshine. And the brand-new leaves will ruffle themselves in the brisk bisque of spring.