Mushroom

I have become one, in this last leg of winter, and the newest days of spring. I would rather be a daffodil, but only the crocus are up...The unicorn meat eating cats are wild about going outside at all hours. Their kitteh clocks are telling them it's a new season. And so they are so surprised when they step out into the cold, and a gale force wind strikes them square in the ears...

Nothing has struck me as news worthy lately, although maybe I am just blind. Of course there are a million things going on, but what I really want to know is, how is Kate's pregnancy going? I can only think the British press has been asked not to take pictures, but the paparazzi around the young couple is so intense, how could they escape notice?

I wish I felt more like a lagoon: placid, caressed only by clouds, and balmy. Instead, I am stuck in some dark, damp cave, and if I turn my electric heater off for one minute, my skin gets clammy.

Although I was struck by the sunset last night. Dawn is always my favorite, but this sunset had beautifully clear colors, with dark, black clouds in relief. It had the palest of yellows and a hint of green, and above the clouds, the wild, winter sky blazing with stars. I often go out at night to see the stars, a left over from living in the country. I miss the massive star fields I could see in the country, with the lower, man-made light. But some evenings, when the Huntsman can clearly be seen, I forget all the troubles of living in a small city. The moon is just as bright, and there are more fogs here, which I love.

The trees stand in their inky shadows just as clear, and the lavender plant is just as silver. Only, if it were true spring, I would have wandered into the day by now.

But there is something fine about still being abed, with the electric heater posting out the heat enough to take the chill out of the air...and the dog snores, and the cats lie in pools of fur.

Happy Sunday.