Hopefully, Saturday's whopper of a snow storm was one of the last of the winter season, but one never knows. Yesterday, the weather was fairly mild for this far north, and the garden looked pristine and very wonderful after the long snowfall, but there was a damp bitter wind which made walking something of an ordeal, and I thought it a perfect day to spend indoors with paints, a book or two and a large pot of Darjeeling.No doubt about it, we are weary of winter, longing for the snow to melt and the first spring flowers to appear: bloodroot, snowdrops, hyacinths, wild ginger, daffodils, trilliums, crocuses and violets. A little later when the sun has warmed my garden in town and the hillsides out in Lanark, there will be columbines, hepatica, anemones, trout lilies and wild orchids, and the woods will be full of birds.
In my recent dreams, I have been hearing the returning songs of the Great Northern Divers (Loons), Canada Geese and Rose-breasted Grosbeaks, and once or twice I have dreamed my way barefoot through the old orchard, seen the iridescent flash of bluebird wings like so many small rainbows among the foliage. When I awaken, I drink in the intoxicating fragrance of the purple hyacinths on the oak table in the dining room, and I begin to dream of Spring all over again.
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