Well, call it Murphy’s Law or Mother Nature just being unreasonable. No more than 24 hours after I issued my glowing report on the first signs of spring, the weather gods decided we needed a blizzard to round things out.
Ya know, when you’re watching the news and the meteorologist starts throwing words around like ‘winter storm warning’ and ‘blizzard warning’, then you look out the window and there’s not a cloud in the big blue sky, you sit back and think, “Wow, the weather woman had a bit too much coffee this morning”, then go about your day. (Wow, that was a run-on sentence to beat all run-on sentences!). Until that chance glance outside and you see . . .
Woah, what the heck? Because yesterday it was like . . .
As the day wore on, the snow came heavier and heavier. But still, we were determined to go out for dinner. Although we were snow-blasted just running from the front door to the car, we pressed on. And although we couldn’t see more than a block down the road, we pressed on. It wasn’t until we hit the highway and realized visibility sucked that we decided to turn around, head back, and make dinner ourselves for a night of Netflix and chill.
All went well with dinner. We queued up a show and sat down to watch. Soon, the lights started to flicker. And then all went black. The power had gone out. Lucky for us it wasn’t a long outage. We used the time to shovel snow from the gazebo.
Blowing snow left quite a mess underneath the gazebo.
After a night curled in the heated blanket, I awoke to this . . .
My baby’s breath was just starting to sprout, too.
Yup. Got the message, Mother Nature. Watch my mouth. Noted.
From the back deck, I spotted some odd patterns in the snow. On further inspection, I’m guessing this was a falcon or an owl hunting the voles living under my concrete patio. Looks like he got one too!
A bird of prey mark in the snow . . . or an alien facehugger lives under my porch.
Despite the copious amounts of snow, morning walkies were still lovely. With the pond still thawed and the untouched snow, the morning felt magical. The plentiful sunshine sure didn’t hurt.
Mother Nature, I can’t stay mad at you when you give me views like this!
And Mochi sure loved the snow too.
Super Mochi dashes to the rescue of a bacon treat.
Our only saving grace is that the snow will be melted in two days, and no, that’s not a challenge, Mother Nature!
Now, it’s time for a nice warm mug of matcha while my boots dry out.
. . . and to be cheeky, I brewed my matcha in a Santa mug.
One morning while leaving for work, I heard it—that unmistakable call of spring, the American Robin singing for all he was worth on top of my neighbour’s house. That morning made it official: spring had finally come. Today was the first day of spring.
I don’t have a picture of a robin, so here’s a bunny from my parent’s asparagus patch!
I’m not talking about the almanacial First Day of Spring (I think I just made up a word there.) ‘Round these parts, spring is more of what you hear and smell than what the calendar says. Certain smells in the air (or I guess lack-thereof) and two key species of birds are the harbingers of spring.
I also managed to snap this grainy pic of a downy woodpecker at the feeder!
Yes, folks. You can smell and hear spring.
I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. First off, it’s the smell you get when you throw open the back door, take a sniff of the air, and smell “it”. That distinct nose-full of non-frost-laden air that brings a tiny hint of earth.
Add to that the insistent calls of the chickadees and the desperate repetition of the robins, and you have it. That, my friends, is the first day of spring.
A Prairie Crocus in the nature reserve behind my house.
Here in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains, spring comes really late. We are jealous of the west coasters with their cherry blossoms and spring buds while we’re still under a foot of snow. Our April showers are more like snow drifts. But we make the most of it. We’ll be the first ones out and invading the national parks as soon as the mercury retreats above freezing, because anything above -10C is a heat wave.
A Richardson’s ground squirrel waiting for me to toss it a snack
I’m hoping spring will bring something more than warmer
temps and tulip buds. I’m hoping for a slow-down at work. Not only is my
anxiety spinning out of control, as mentioned in a previous post, I’m also
months and months behind the release of my 4th book.
Book #4 in the Rose Cross Academy series is about 90% written. There’s some cleanup to do here-and-there, and I need to do one last self-edit before sending the manuscript off to my editor for the final hack-and-slash. Cover art is (mostly) done. I just need to do a few tweeks. The only thing holding me up is time. And sleep. Oh, and the need to eat. If I can expunge these needs to work evenings and weekends just to keep my team’s head above the water, then I’ll have time to focus on my writing.
Boo is also waiting to start writing again . . .
Infact, I think I’m going through writing withdrawl so much
so that I’m dreaming about stealing time here and there (and even stealing
paper and pen) to write stories in my dreams. Then I wake up in the mornings
all excited to actually write these stories out only to realize they make no
bloody sense!
Take for instance, the tale of Lanyu. This is my most
memorable dream about writing stories. As a coworker recounted me the tale of
Lanyu and I dreamt about writing it down, I found myself playing through the
story. The premise involved a wooden building where the ruler locked up his
family. His family was totally fine with being locked up because the ruler sent
them everything they ever wanted-food, riches, pets—through a garbage chute-like
thing. (Now stop for a moment and imagine delivering a litter of puppies or
three dozen ice cream cones through a garbage chute and you start to see how
these dreams just don’t make sense as actual stories.)
Now as the family grew, they naturally had children. The
children did not like being cooped up, so the eldest child, our ‘hero’ Lanyu,
staged a coup. In that uprising they burned down the house in order to escape . . . so far so good . . . but Lanyu burned in
the fire but did not die. Instead, the skin burned off of him right down to
bones. But he was all fine with that. As half-skeleton-Lanyu, he stole a
Greyhound bus, loaded the kids on, and drove them to safety and freedom.
Now, as I’m going through this ordeal with the hero, deep
down I’m thinking this is an awesome story, and I should write it out
immediately.
Upon waking, I recall the events of the dream and wonder just what the heck I was smoking.
Although zero sense was made, I still wrote the dream in my Dream Journal.
I think it was this point I realized I’m going through creative
withdrawal.
But anyway, back to spring! Like I said, I’m hoping spring
brings a slow down so I have a chance to exercise my creative side once again.
Creativity is very much like a muscle in that you must constantly use it or it
gets thin and flabby, and hurts the first time you try to use it vigorously.
Until then, I hope to enjoy the tiny signs of spring and
hope for the best.
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