Coming to terms with the difficulty this year's winter has had struggling with letting go. Just last week, I overheard a couple of cabins discussing the extremely high level of fever they've had to put up with for the last couple of months. I'm one matching set of white belt and pants away from a move south. So ready for summer I bought a hothouse tomato, slathered it in mayo and pretended I just got back Pete's Farmstand, Rt. 12, Just North of Walpole, NH.
It's been cool. As in temperature, not temperament. As in it's frickin' May and I'm still waiting for a forsythia to step up and be counted. As in I don't have to look too hard to spy with my little eye chunks of glacier clinging to roadside rockwalls.
Even the roads aren't sure what to make of it. Normally by now we're in the middle of mud season navigating roads all agoo. Oh, there are pockets of warmth-indicators looking to be recognized. The other day (let's call it Spring shall we?), I was out for a Spring-Has-Sprung ride up on Davidson Hill Road and found a couple of spots where, if I'd been in my car instead of on my bike I would have been up to my ball joints in it. But for the most part the ground is still solid. As in the tarp doesn't need to come off the Troy-Bilt quite yet.
Last night, I opened my bedroom window hoping for a breath of the freshness of Spring (like when your Mom hung a mobile of Irish Spring soap bars over your crib). (HaHaHa. You thought I wouldn't tell.) You know how comforting that woodstove-smoke smell is drifting over from the neighbors in January? It's a spit in the face from Mother Nature on the 5th of May.
Got to go for a run through the woods today. Running through the woods on a crisp Fall day with the musk of freshly fallen leaves rising crushed beneath my feet always brings up memories of my glory days. Wait. Right stimulus, wrong season.
I sure hope they're enjoying a nice lingering summer down Chile way.
Love you all. Peace. Peter