It was snowing. They were the perfect flakes, the ones that floated softly like so many puffs off a dandelion, the ones that landed on her sleeve pristinely, begging to be admired for the beauty and complexities of their simple shapes. She couldn’t help but oblige; other drivers honked her out of her reverie at stoplights when she was captivated by those caught on the window.
It was March already – at least, she felt, Mother Nature was making beautiful the days which could feel so interminably long now that spring seemed only a song away. She had the itch – her skin screaming for sunshine, her mind obsessed with garden planning. But there was at least another month…. there was the rub.