The equinox has come and gone but winter didn’t seem to pay it any mind. Perhaps it likes it here and wants to stay. An extended holiday.
So there are no singing birds. No crocuses pushing up anxiously through the dirt.
The ground is still mostly frozen and boot-crunchy underneath the leafless sketchbook trees.
Bare branches reaching for blue sky.
Longing for spring.
When technically it’s already here, as far as the movement of the sun is concerned.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.