“The bees are flying. They taste the spring.”

The title of this post is the last line in Sylvia Plath’s poem “Wintering.” It’s a rather dark poem, but the last line for me is always hopeful and optimistic — though, of course, it’s shadowed by Plath’s own biography and tragic end. Still, let’s go with it. After a rather long, dark, dismal wintering, the hive of life is coming back to life. Around here the snow has finally melted in my driveway, and I can see…dirty concrete! After months of pure snow and ice, I’ll take what I can get. I finally got to drag out my pots

What to Do With the Remains Of Spring?

I cannot believe it is almost June. Almost halfway through the year! Time: flying by, a whir of days, activity, thoughts, runs in the park, buying groceries, playing auntie, petting tiny Shetland ponies, writing and revising and proofing and re-proofing and re-re-proofing. Time seeps away; time piles up. I can’t keep track sometimes, no matter how much I journal, Instagram, meditate. This year I want to remember that summer is a time to slow down. Springtime has been so busy: I’ve been gearing up to publish my collection of essays soon, and while I thought this would be a quick,

Printed Pantsapalooza

So one of the unanticipated effects of a long winter was that in March I went on a bit of a fashion bender. After a pretty abstemious January and February, it’s like the floodgates opened and suddenly everything on the sales rack looked good to me. Neon! Weird abstract prints! Lime green jeans! It was like having the shopping equivalent of beer goggles. Luckily the old habits of caution and discrimination are inculcated enough, and most of my enthusiasm was contained in the dressing room, satiated by taking plentiful amounts of dressing room try-on pics. (You know the ones I

Sweetness Follows (A “Life in Pictures” Kind of Thing)

Moving into spring this year was a little difficult, because winter was so long and a spat of Daylight Savings-induced insomnia derailed me a little. But now I wake up in the mornings just as the light streams into my house, casting temporary paintings of light and shadows onto the walls. I like going outside in the morning, when the air is brisk and the light is clear. It’s refreshing — something about the snap of it clears out the head-down, shoulders-up huddle you develop during the cold winter. You look up and suddenly seem more alive to the odd