Today the gorgeous combination of sunshine, balmy breezes and warm temperature calls for unleashing my winter-pale skin upon the world. I bring my rosemary plant outside with me and tell it that, "Why yes, little Rosemary, we are in Southern France again! Isn't it delightful?" This plant is not native to Vermont. It thrives in a Mediterranean environment. Can you blame it? My little Rosemary has hung on valiantly through the dark, cold New England winter. It's not an easy task to see a rosemary plant through to the next summer. Every sunny day I'd move her around the house into the best light, from the time the sun hit our kitchen windows until sunset, all 5 hours of it. I think her plant-y stamina and my weird determination paid off.
Feeling the driveway grit on my bare feet and breezes tickling across my shoulders excites me with tactile sensation and I can't concentrate on reading very much. So, I just pretend mostly. My skin is so white I must be sending signals to outer space. If the Google Earth satellite happened to go over my house today, the light reflecting off of me might have blasted out any other images.
If you look into the garage, though, you will note that the snowblower still looms in the shadows, ready for one final death-gasp of winter.
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