On a stormy, blustery day in March, when I don't want to brave the cold and the wet, when the walls around me are physically my shelter and also walls in other ways...
I will be wrapped in blankets, lingering well past morning coffee.
I will read with my kids or read on my own. You will often find me leaning on the kitchen counter or sitting at the kitchen table with my nose in a book. I incessantly need to know.
In March I will contemplate the next project, the next idea. Today it was what to do with the huge bag of beautiful roving I received. I still have no idea.
In March I will peer out the windows and wonder if the daffodils are going to be okay, and suddenly realize I haven't even begun planning seeds yet and slightly panic at the thought of late tomatoes.
I will sit in this chair, reading again and again to the kids. I could lose my voice and they would still want more.
In March I will wander off to the far corner of my bedroom, the quietest place in the house, where I can sit in the window and knit a few rows. This is probably as close to meditating as I will get.
In March I will turn the house the way I do every day, making breakfast and lunch and keeping up on the dishes and the laundry. But in my mind I am already in the spring, with dirt under my fingernails and sun in my eyes. I am warm and bright and on the road and out with friends and growing again and being alive.
At the end of it all, on a stormy blustery day in March, I will turn on the lamps and keep on going into the night, knowing and trusting it will soon change.
