Just like when we come out of a matinee and we are unreasonably, but predictably, surprised by the light, we emerge from the winter blinking in the sun. The outdoors is beckoning. The back door was open yesterday afternoon, airing out our stale winter den. Some days are colder than others, but the scent of spring is rapidly dispersing. Mud pies, watering plants(and occasionally cats)with a spider man squirt ring and planting orange seeds with great hopes are all taking place in the outdoors these days.
I won't visit you this month. You won't call. I will raid your garden and you won't get any of the vegetables. I will make plans without telling you about them. We'll go to the store and not buy you one single thing. Whole books will be read and I will not tell you which ones. I will watch movies and not inform you. The nasturiums will ripen. Last month was different. I changed my schedule and took time off work to be with you. I dropped all kinds of plans for us to be together. You sent me messages, I received them. I picked up food that I thought you would like at the store and sent you pictures of every beautiful thing I saw. I sang with you. We watched the Great Canadian Baking Show. You chose the recipe for the garlic scape pesto and gave me instructions for making the gooseberry jam. I am in August without you. You are in July.
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