Well Good Morning to You Too
Oh. Hello.
I didn’t see you there.
No, it’s fine. Of course I didn’t think that just because I took a little time-out that the world should stop turning. I mean, there are lunches to be made and dictators to topple and yes, teeth will continue to fall out and hey even the sprouts are defying logic and breaking through the chilly dirt.
And ho, what’s that I feel? Are these tendrils unfurling from my own stiff limbs as if spurned on by the heady scent of sun-kissed dirt?
Hibernating? No, not me. For there is work to be done.
And I’ve been busy.
Doing, you know, stuff.
Important, stuff.
Like, making sure my youngest is dressed to fight dragons.
And prepping Grandma for some good, old-fashioned village – pillaging.
Well gosh, now you’re making me feel like all I’ve been doing is trying to be a viking. But you know they have cool ships with handsome, half-clad men rowing in time to jaunty sea shanties?
And ocean breezes that would gently blow through my luxurious locks.
The glint of the sun winking off a newly sharpened hatchet.
The squawk of an albatross in search of an Ancient Mariner…
Hey, shame on you. Do not encourage my digressions.
For there is work to be done once dragons lay slain. A newly acquired village will need tidying. And so it was that the local population was enslaved and put to work waking up the sleepy garden.
They raked and they hoed and eventually the garlic showed through, it’s sweet tendrils reaching towards the light of the weak spring sun.
They whispered sweet nothings of encouragement, coaxing irises from beneath frozen blankets.
The raspberries too would prosper under new management. The field, an unwieldy brier patch of mayhem,
was hacked into submission. A viking must insist upon order from her berries.
No more would raspberries be left to wither on the vine.
And the viking goddess (that’d be me) saw that it was good. And so it was that she posted sentries in the treetops . . .
And high-tailed it back inside.
For her hands were getting cold.