For an icy rain that clings sluggish to twigs, railings, fences, windshields, the undersides of cheap patio furniture. Chilled to dribbling stalactites, unwilling to commit to a freeze but unable to run away. Winter, who not so long ago was fierce, full of energy, even playful — was it only last month? — has become a petulant child up past bedtime and too tired to sleep, throwing one after another diminishing tantrum. Flinging sleet into resentful faces. Mashing shoots of grass into resentful puddles. Frosting over flower petals like candy on a cake, then wandering off as they melt, and wilt. Spattering crystals that glimmer in the gray light, crying out from the mud, demanding attention. The pines refuse this time to participate: keep their needles uniced, and politely turn away. His parents watch embarrassed from the window, themselves too weary for discipline and knowing it to be futile.
Go to sleep, kid! But there is no helping it. He will just have to wear himself out.
About The New AgrarianI have been planting content here off and on since 2002, with occasional attempts at cultivation and pruning. All of it swirls around more or less agrarian ideas: food and agriculture, including some practical things, but also craft, community, technology, embodiment, history, sustainability, nature, and place. As you might guess, I’ve changed my mind a few times on all these topics since I started a decade ago. I cultivate, but not always in neat rows. Read my Explanation and Apologia to learn more.
The fine printThe New Agrarian is copyright ©2002–2017 by David Walbert. All rights reserved, but I'm generally pretty nice about sharing, so feel free to ask.