Well, a week that started off on what I consider a bad note (daylight saving time; I hate it when an hour of sleep is stolen from me and it’s dark when I have to get up in the morning) is ending well. It is heading toward 7 p.m. as I write this, and the sun is still shining down on Queensborough and streaming in through the windows of our nice bright Manse. So I suppose I am going to have to grudgingly admit that there is an upside to daylight saving time.
And it is Friday night! The best night of the week! And this weekend (unlike last) Raymond and I do not have to spend a lot of it on the road between here and Montreal. We can stay right here in our pretty little village and get rested, trying to make up for that stolen hour of sleep. (I should note that Raymond doesn’t care about the sleep theft at all. But I am bitter.)
And really the best part is that, after the horrendous weather we had midweek – brutal cold and wind, and snow and blowing snow – suddenly it feels like spring again. Much of the snow has melted, the roads are muddy rather than frozen, and this afternoon you could walk outside with your coat unbuttoned.
Which I did as I took a brief walk through the streets of quiet little Queensborough, listening to the birds sing…
…and splashing through the mud puddles – and remembering all the early springs of my childhood in this very place.
As winter turns turns to spring, it is so good to be home.