Pink bicycles have no place in a blizzard, I thought, although to be fair — given that it was already March — I felt like I didn’t have much reason to be in one, either.
The nearby bushes were equally glum.
Shoveling also loses its charm when you have to do it twice a day for the better part of a week. At least I wasn’t in Boston.
I tried to be strong, like one of the stray cats, who sat perched on the corner of the grape arbor as if it were the bow of a ship.
Meanwhile, the tulips were a reminder that spring was around the corner, at least in theory.
Some of the animals awoke from their months-long hibernation.
Others watched the news and were dismayed by the political landscape.
But outside, there were new signs of life.
Our prayers were being answered.
And the glaciers were in retreat.
