Better to have false hope than no hope at all

Yesterday it was spring. Actually, it was faux printemps, but that’s better than no printemps at all. Even though it is, like a sexual infatuation, bound to end in disappointments. But I have never had a sexual infatuation that I don’t cherish just a teeny bit in memory, and I have never spent a false spring day that betrayed me. Subsequent days might, but the day in question is always fulfilling and highly satisfying.

So, yesterday I got out into the garden fro the first time since back last fall when the 2008 garden had shot its bolt and had become humdrum and boring. But, 2009 was the beginning of a new love and that first date was gentle and delicate and never presumptuous. I just went as far as seemed prudent. The day seemed willing to go along with it.

So, I pruned and snipped and raked and looked with almost paternal pleasure on the crocuses in wondrous early bloom. The daffodils are turgidly thrusting through the soil, meanwhile and the tulip and grape hyacinth foliage has already been nibbled by the deer.

It wasn’t a warm day by any understood standards of warmth, but it was pleasing enough to wear a light jacket. The sun shone vibrantly throughout and taking a break on the front doorstep of a westward facing house felt benevolent and sensual. I could get used to this.

I know it can turn ugly, just like that metaphorical sexual encounter, and the smiles might give way to tears and anger, but just that one day, February 15th made me want to embrace and gently caress what might lie ahead for 2009.

And, it is still too early to have to cut the damn grass.