We sit on the deck, holding our faces to the sun. The wind is still raw, not yet a warm spring breeze.
We wrap up in jackets and blankets, my father, sister-in-law and I. We are refugees from knee replacement, eye surgery, torn cartilage and lung cancer.
We leave crutches and bandages, real and imagined at the door. Winter has battered us; we want to forget about our wounds.
We notice buds on the trees. We talk of the garden and what we will plant- in a month or two, when it gets warm. Zucchini, beans, grape tomatoes and basil, lots of basil.
We notice the barren planters, wanting to replace the dried and wilted stalks from last year with something lovely. Petunias, we think. Or maybe a hibiscus.
We check the fireplace exhaust for hidden bees. There are none yet. It is too cold for bees.
The sun peaks out. We crave sunshine like vitamins. We long for warmth to fill our bodies, trickling down to our toes, healing our stitches and scars.
We don’t last long on this spring outing. Clouds roll in, robbing us of our fun. The wind picks up. Spring is being stingy.
We head inside, to electric lights and central heating.
Spring will come another day.
We know, and we are hopeful.