It was warm enough yesterday that we opened most off the windows in the apartment. I spent the afternoon building a planter box for our little balcony, and a raised bed for our small garden. Overhead, the California sky was as blue as it ever gets in midsummer. The breezes were gentle, the air was perfumed with springtime flowers. Intellectually, I believe that the weather is as nice as it is, but since I’m a New Englander to my core there’s a part of me that’s quite sure it will snow again before spring really comes, or a hard frost will come and kill off whatever we plant in the garden.
um, yeah – about that snow thing….
wanna come by here and get to work on the tomatoes?
Instead of snow: this year here in New England it is floods.
I play the John Cash record of “How High’s the River Momma” as I look out my window at the river in my back yard.
Well…we might get snow here (Indiana) this week. I rather like the “real” weather patterns of a four season state. I can’t imagine living somewhere where the weather is so nice, so much of the time. It would be — oh, you know — really nice. And that would be hard to take.