seaweed in winter and pincushion moss


Spring creeps slowing and cautiously up the north-east coast. Frightened perhaps by Yankee ethic or that "live free or die" predominating attitude.
Some say it's the hot snap of a bat hitting a baseball that echos off seagulls as they float in the cold northbound currents. It is this sound that brings a warming vibration to our shores. The warmth moves through the disappearing frost heaves like really really really slow lightening.
Finally it spreads far and thin enough to give encouragement to the first plants trying to connect with the sun through stiff dirt .
Thick sweaters and overcoats feel heavy now. Mud replaces the smell of ice.
I have a window open, just a little bit.