This is the third day of sun. First warm morning in ninety-six days, but who’s counting. I’m still wearing one of my baggy sweaters over my night gown. I am not cold. I am freezing, holding my clay mug close to my chest as if it were a cure sent from goddess Aceso who solves chronic pain. The seed catalog is left open on the harvest table. Your black pen has circled pictures of happiness. You know what you want; yet, I am not sure if it’s possible to order everything before Spring arrives in the middle of next week.
M. J. Iuppa lives on a small farm near Lake Ontario’s shores. Check out her blog for her musings on writing, sustainability & life’s stew.