I must resist. . .

Every year the same seasons cycle through the year. Even with global warming, the shift in timing is not noticable (at least not yet!). The worst time of the year for me is the next two months. Spring can not get to me soon enough.

All the seed catalogs start arriving with the Christmas bills. That means my brain starts turning over soil, peat pots try to appear in unused crevices, and dreams of really doing "it" right this year occupy every waking moment. Of course, with it being snow covered, freezing January outside, I must resist.

Then along comes February and a winter thaw. That, along with the seed orders that must be placed, makes the day dreaming worse. Rows of what to plant where sudden begin turning up on scraps of papers and the odd note pad begins to fill with grand schemes. Alas, I must resist still.

Finally, March roars in. The earliest of migrants are filling up at feeders and scraping through the wet leaves and grass eeking out enough to eat for them to begin to think about nesting. Those peat pots in my mind begin to make real appearances and the dreams are firmly laid out on paper. With luck, March will roar in like lion and out like a lamb.

But, until then I must resist.