I seem to be awake. It must be Spring.
I believe there are bears in my family tree. Hibernation comes too naturally to me for it to be an accident. Once the holiday hooplah passes and the dark, snowy silence sets in, I love nothing more than sleep. Every chance I get, I burrow into the soft warmth of a down comforter and drift away to a better place. The longer I stay there, the more colorful and bizarre the dreams are. And I do love dreams.
Now there is that unmistakable change in the air, a freshness, the scent of new earth and possibilities. The drapes are open. The bed is made. It's time to shake off the stupor, step into the sun, and see what's going on in the garden.
(How do people live where there are no seasons?)