Do Ya' Limbo

DO YA` LIMBO?

This is the time of year that contentment and I battle-duke it out, pull hair.  It is a limbo time, this edge of Winter not letting go into Spring.  The air carries little whiffs of warm excitement and the daffodils poke naked green fingers out of the ground.  Their apparent vulnerability sends shivers of discomfort through me (score 1 for discontentment).  Why do I feel cold for a plant?

Despite the cold temps, a presence encourages the bare leaves to rise, simultaneously drawing Spring here like a magnet.  Would Spring come if the daffodils didn't draw it?  Oh Spring, my own core draws you too with longings for warm soil and the smell of young shoots waking up, stretching down and out tickling me out of a seemingly cardboard, tv watching, 2 dimensional life.  My brain cells crave sunshine and the high pitched buzzing of honey bees, the frequency feeding me even in the remembering.

Today, I will be content!  I will survey the garden in my winter garb and tiptoe "hello" around each sleeping tree. 

I will plan plans and design projects that are utterly too ambitious.  I will dream of a year where the insects are on my team, the birds all declare war on stinkbugs and curculios (the bane of fruit growers), and the rains come precisely when the garden calls it.  Oh, and the weeds abandon my garden, hoisting their skirts, lifting their roots and migrating to a home where they feel necessary.

I have a dream that all of the eggs that we hatch are hens.  I dream that every tree will bear tasty, dew covered, perfect fruits.  I dream that the fencing will hold, that I repair the sections that are suspect, and that hole digging muscle flows straight from nature's own strength into my winter wimpy arms.

I dream of a repaired Bush hog, a resided barn, and new barn doors.

I dream of a chicken tractor in the orchard.  I dream of compost tea dousing each perennial - life giving, health granting.  I dream of a magic wand complete with sparkles leaking out of it and woodland creatures working alongside me.  Hey, it's been a long Winter.

For now, I'll be content believing that the walnuts that keep appearing in my boots are gifts from the squirrels and not coincidences.

 I will believe that that the birds songs are really God's way of buoying me.  I will believe that every wisp of gentle breeze is for me, and that you will believe it is for you too.  When we meet meet, we will know each other by the sparkles leaking out of our hope-filled lives even in this, seemingly limbo-ed out, month.

Contentment: score 3

 Winter can't last forever.