It got up to 14 degrees or so today, the warmest it's ever been here in February. The sun was streaming through the windows at work and I just couldn't stay indoors, so at lunch I burst free and went for a walk in Queen's Park. Delicious-scented air, a caressing warm breeze, painfully bright sunshine, and a perfect cloudless sky. I walked beneath the sycamores and listened to my feet crunching the gravel and wished I could just keep on walking forever, right out of the park and across the trans-Canada highway and right on going. It was physically painful to crawl back into my cubicle again.
I have grow lights up and little sprouts starting of various herbs and greens. I open a bag of potting soil and put my face right in and breathe deeply -- that rich, damp fragrant earth is the best smell on the planet. I look out at my garden---currently a sea of mud---and envision beds of vegetables growing. The garlic is two inches high. The asparagus still sleeps under a foot of autumn's rotting leaves. It's too early to uncover it---they're saying we'll be back to just above freezing tomorrow. But the hope is there. The promise is there. Waiting, biding its time. Sending out little teasing whispers... Spring is coming.
How on earth did I end up in a job that keeps me pinned to a desk indoors? It's not where I belong.
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