I love my garden equally in the cold, bitter winter months. I love to go out and walk among the slushy, icy paths, overrun with evergreen weeds (that believe they've got one over on me - will deal with them in March!), bird seed and rabbit tracks. I love the serene beauty and charming elegance of the bones of my garden, cloaked in clear, glassy jewels dripping with snobby class. It tells me there is hope. Hope for Springtime ...
And sometimes I go by (in an evil moment) and kick the dirt of the two groundhogs' mounds back by the cornfield, and encourage my Rudy to root them out. His Heeler instincts tell him no; one set of fisticuffs with the nasty rodents was enough for him. I can't wait for Spring, but I love the winter like no other.
