January does not remember what month it is, as March arrived early and stole the last remaining snow. Blue clear skies, no moving breath, just immersion in warm light that unlocks deep forgotten memories. I know that smell of wet earth and rising moisture. I know that bright light penetrating every layer. I pretend to hear the first buds breaking through hard shells, reaching for this light. I turn forward and begin a checklist of grasses and flowers for the spring planting.
Leroy and I sit on the damp and cool cement step, and watch the misty moon reach toward Jupiter, with Venus waiting in the wings.
