This is Bryce and Patrick (Josh’s stepson). I snapped this photo last year and just now discovered it while trying to find a photo of a cow on my hard drive. Story of my life! Ha. The two fellas look like little specks, and in fact I had to zoom in about 300% in order to make out who the mysterious cowboys actually were. Of course, I could immediately discern Bryce’s profile; isn’t it amazing how you know every angle of your children’s faces? I love that (now) fifteen-year-old giant. Did I tell you he’s wrestling? That’s another story for another time.
In any event, the photo above made me long for sunshine and warm days, like the day I took the photo. As much as I usually don’t mind winter, this one has felt especially long, cold, and dreary. Emphasis on cold. And cold! Also, it’s been quite cold outside. I want (translation: long) to plant vegetables and sunflowers and resume my evening walks with the dogs so my bottom can shrink more quickly. I want to step outside with Henry and not feel the chill of death stinging my body.
It’s strange, the abrupt turn I have taken this year in regards to my attitude toward winter: I loved it growing up. I haven’t minded it much over the past few years. But this year, in no uncertain terms, I am over it. I want to have flowers outside my house instead of frozen cow manure. I want to smell the sweet smell of spring. I want lushness, life, and chlorophyll. I need to look out my bedroom window and see bright yellow finches, not desolate, bleak earth. I want to walk on grass that isn’t crunchy.
I WANT TO PLANT THE BEEFSTEAK TOMATOES I WAS BORN TO PLANT!!!!!!!!
Not that I’m dramatic or anything.
(Who’s with me?)
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