On A Cold March Day

I'm giving myself 5 minutes to write.

I haven't written in so long, months. Today is cold and dreary, and I put cabbage in the crock pot and brewed more tea, which is much more romantic in November than in March. In March, I want to throw open windows and play in the dirt, but today it's flurrying so I'll settle for cabbage and tea.

The faint red hue of unfurled new leaves barely holds in the trees. Waiting. The spring peepers in the creek beds, who we heard a couple weeks ago, have quieted again. Waiting.

Patrick and I will play another game of Uno, since he finished school for the day. Samuel is napping, piled under blankets in his cozy crib. Graham's off learning at school, and Behn is running his department at work. I alternate between sorting through toys (and piling them off to purge to the thrift store) and cooking and folding laundry. We each have our tasks, and I'm achey today but the work feels good, too, especially while listening to an audiobook. Later, I will go shovel manure and feed horses at the barn where I work a few hours a week for extra cash. Even in the cold, I look forward to the physical tasks and quiet of the horses. It makes me feel alive.

5 minutes are up. Until next time, which I hope it sooner than 8 months.