It was dark.
Too dark.
Without the orange-pink slips of burgeoning morning light dancing between the slats of my bedroom blinds, there was no real incentive to get up. Dark + cold = night = sleep. It's math.
Math is power.
Unfortunately, it was daytime. A gloomy daytime.
Bleh.
Overnight, the temps had dipped all the way back into the 40s. Egad, it's March all over again! I cuddled further into the blankets, hoping to stave off the chill and inevitable "eh eh eh eh eh" of the alarm a little longer.
Breezy and damp, the highs only reached the upper 50s today. Multiple jolts of caffeine couldn't keep the yawns at bay. The afternoon dragged on. All the way home, I consoled myself with, "I'll curl up on the couch in sweats, watch Supernatural on NetFlix and take a nap."
My evening was planned.
And then the craziest, most unexpected thing happened ...
The sun came out.
Okay, maybe it wasn't so crazy or unexpected to those who had watched local weather reports. I had been ensconced in season 6 of Supernatural (Sammy got his soul back!) and hadn't caught the forecasts.
The sun tugged at me. It pulled me off the couch. It whispered, "Come out and play."
Creepy, whisper-y sun.
I ventured out, abandoning my Winchester boys to NetFlix and hit the dirt. I planted my veggie garden, pulled weeds, cleared mountains of helicopters discarded by the maples, and took in the blissful kiss of lilac on the soft evening breeze.
I also stepped in dog poop.
All in all, a good spring evening in the garden, thanks to the invitation of the setting sun.
