Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

Come on, February, you're killing me. Just be done already! I feel like that kid waiting for the last day of the school year. Or Christmas day. Or the day for going on that much-awaited trip to Disney World. I'm just really excited about daylight happening around 6 am and staying until 6 pm. Winter is on the downhill, which is fine by me. All the snow is gone, though we're supposed to get some this weekend. All the ice has melted, thank goodness. I ended up falling once while walking Ado, mostly because I'd forgotten about one particular ice patch, wasn't paying attention, and the new snow cover made it even more slippery than it was when not covered in snow. Ado kind of looked at me with the expression of hoomin, wut ar yu dooin ? Having a hold of his leash actually helped me go down with a bit of control, dare I say even with some grace? With the ease in temperatures, I've been able to walk to Uptown to catch the bus to work. Then I walk home from Uptown...

Go to dinner with me this evening, my husband suggests. I am working in the garden behind the house. Where the chickens used to be. Where the empty beehive still stands at the far end. I didn't answer. Think about it for a bit and let me know, he says. I nod. As I pull weeds, shift pavers around, lug cinder blocks to line the fence, I think about the neglect of the space. Life resonated throughout the garden once. Chickens. Bees. Birds. Rabbits. Snakes. Now an emptiness fills the space, and emptiness that began two years ago with the chickens, after a neighbor complained to the city, and a city official showed up one sunny June morning, telling me to remove the chickens from the premises. The emptiness grew when the bees absconded, leaving the hive to follow the queen wherever it was she had decided to go. The sadness I felt then stirs from my heartspace. Dormant for a long time but still residing within. Still a part of me these two years since. Bringing life back, s...