blackbird singin' in the dead of night

henry has been pulling his three to four a.m. "let's wake up because i want to run amok through the house" routine. eerrgh.

you'd think he would be tired. you'd think he would crave sleep after a day of movement that would rival an olympic triathlon.



after an hour of rolling around whispering to himself he at last went off with winken and blinken only to wake up at 6:30, his usual perky self. i woke up when he flipped the light on and said, "it's morning, mommy."

and morning it is. sunny and silver. it snowed again last night leaving a smoothness down the driveway and atop the creeper, who sits in the drive, "old and cold and settled in its ways", not to mention a faded, grayish blue. we need to clean out the half of the garage for the creeper so he'll live longer than these eighteen years.

the few talkative birds have spread the word about the new feeder in the neighborhood. i cannot peek out my study window without seeing someone hopping in the feather-printed snow.

it's time to being plotting for a summer garden. it's time to sketch it out and think about seeds and small plants in plastic containers. and when it's time for small plants in plastic containers it will be time for yard tents and night feasts under trees and candles and fly-fire.

this winter funk, snow birds notwithstanding, is starting to get me down.