The itch to garden has started. I think it was the icicles on the white rose bush that woke me up--I don't care what Eliot said--February is the cruelest month. Sometime in early March the crocus will suddenly open, then the scillia in our backyard--with their delicate white and faint blue stripe petals--a small army of scillia all along the front of the back bed. Oh, and then the daffodils, thousands it seems, because some were planted long before we ever arrived; white, yellow, and miniature blooming all along the long side beds and in the front bed. The iris blades will just be shooting up, a promise of deep violet in early May. And that's just early spring! I can't even think about the scarlet tulips yet, it's unbearable to wait. I complain about the winters here every year. I wonder why, why do we live here? It's for spring my friends. I live for spring.