I don't understand how 28 days can seem so long.
Every year, the length of the month of February confounds me. I find it hard to believe that the groundhog knows much about the weather, other than the fact that his underground den is cozier than the "wintry mix" he finds above ground. Smart fellow. We could all learn a little something from him about hunkering down for a few more weeks.
Perhaps it's the ever-so-slight lengthening of the day that gets us through this month. Despite getting more snow this February than we did during the rest of the entire winter, my friends and I have all remarked upon the sun rising earlier and setting just a few minutes later from one week to the next. We keep checking the calendar to confirm the date when the clocks will change, to "spring ahead". We can't see any snowdrops (flowers not precipitation) on the ground, but we suspect they are making their moves underground. It's not yet the end of winter, but I find myself painting more and more flowers... like the snowdrops and crocus bulbs, something is stirring.
Once all this snow melts, and the only thing that falls from the sky is rain, there will be a lot of cleanup to do.
I'm making big plans for my studio to be filled with forsythia and dogwood branches, blooming early in tall vases all around me. I can't force spring to come early anywhere else, but from experience I know it will make the wait easier.
We live in an old house. At the landing of the front hall stairs, a large arched window is placed midway between the first and second floors of the house.
No, the snow isn't that high, but the sill of the window took on layer upon layer of snow that fell sideways late last night. In all, I'd say we got about 28 inches or so. It is deep, clean, and very pretty.
It's also quiet.
We New Englanders know all too well that things will change by tomorrow; there will be plowing, shoveling, more plowing, and then the inevitable thaw. Which leads to the beautiful but dreaded icicles... and something called ice jacking. If you don't know what that is, consider yourself lucky.
But for today at least, everything stops. Families spend the day together. Everyone, I hope, checks in on their neighbors and helps those that need it. The food in the refrigerator is what's served for meals- you make do with what you've got. (Which assumes you've got power. If you don't, I hope you have what you need to endure the wait...)
Everyone I know gets extra sleep during these storms, you have no choice. And as long as you're healthy, together, and prepared... it can be a lovely break from the hectic pace of everyday life.
I see this as a chance to paint using an entirely new color palette. If the power stays on, I'll post tonight.
I've slept a bit since the 30 Day Challenge ended. All of those things that are supposed to happen did! I even cleaned and overhauled the studio.
I feel restored and ready to go again.
So, on Sunday afternoon, I went in search of some flowers at a local garden center, and luckily it was the final day of a "Bridal Open House".
I won't say I'm a regular customer in the same way I am at Dunkin Donuts, (yes, they pour my coffee as I walk through the door), but the folks at the floral shop do recognize me. On occasion, they will walk me into the cavernous cold box to see what's just come in from the Flower Market. They know I paint and we have an agreement: if a painting turns out well, I email a photo to the gal behind the counter. If they don't hear from me, well... they understand.
Which is a long way of saying that I scored some beauties just hours before Downton Abbey was to air.
These are a pair of luscious pink peonies, which I am sure would look just beautiful in Lord Grantham's study.
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