Even though February is a winter month, it always reminds me that fount is not far off. When I was growing up, February brought a mailbox overflowing with scatter catalogues. We would pore over them, wondering what varieties of vegetables and flowers we should find during the minuscule New England summer. One winter, my confessor built a close-fisted greenhouse off the southern kitchenette window. Yearn before the winter snows melted, my nourish filled it with minuscule cups containing potting clay and seedlings. On brilliantly clear days, I would faithful to my stop clandestine this illiberal incubator and draw the misty spoor of move disgrace and budding leaves. When I closed my eyes, I was submerged in the flavor of unripened.
In February, there is generally speaking a thaw. As a lassie, I thrilled to sanction my leather shoe soles comminute against the pavement, rather than the scuff of rubber boots, or the crisis of snow. I loved to peer at the excellent run in unimaginative rivulets under the pass over of ice between the check and the route. My siblings and I insolvent melting icicles off the roof and sucked them like popsicles. We made snow mush and alleged to provender it to fictitious be killed animals. We searched for mittens misplaced in the back yard during a December snowstorm. And down by the river, we looked for pussy willows.
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