One week into the darkest of months, and while out digging in the garden this morning I came across these most unlikely of unseasonal flowers. It's not unheard-of to snip a few hard rosebuds for a Christmas vase, but I've not ever witnessed such color in the winter landscape. I'm certain that a hard freeze will, anytime soon, snap each of these to death.
And while these anomalies of the natural world -- small and understated -- continue to sing their warm-season song, my own voice has gone into its cave wearing a coat of dense fur, desiring one long nap until spring.
We don't get to indulge ourselves, no chance of going all-bear.
So instead there's a daily grumping, a slumping through each hour.
1. English breakfast tea with milk.
2. Marathon video sessions (Showtime's Shameless is highly recommended).
3. A stack of novels.
4. A martini, three olives, very cold.
5. Popcorn (which I stuttered out as "cop-porn" yesterday. [Um, no.])
6. Homemade soup.
7. Sleep, when it graces me with its increasingly rare presence.
And seeing that the likelihood of my going geographic in my quest to find a cure for winter is highly unlikely, I welcome any/all suggestions: tisanes, tinctures, infusions.