Winter Thoughts

There is a difference between dormant and dead.
There may be no green stems, no unfurling leaves, no stretching out towards the sun, no fruit-bearing.
But that doesn't mean there is no life.

Even seeds aren't dead. (Well, unless you roast and salt them. Then they're just food. And food should mostly be dead.)
They are just sleeping.
Waiting.

Trying to maintain color out of season is unnatural. (Everyone has a great-aunt or two whose hair color attests to this fact.)
And a waste of photosynthesis.
And a waste of transpiration. (Yes. I do know what transpiration is. Do you?)
Color out of season is draining on a plant.

Maybe your brightness is past. Maybe your fruit has shriveled on its stem.
(OK. The fact that I just typed that shriveled fruit sentence makes me laugh on the inside [LOitI]. The fact that I am leaving it ensures that my mother will call me tomorrow and revisit our conversation about sharing too much information [TMI] publicly.)
(The fact that I am making fun of over-used acronyms makes me hope my sister Amy reads this and appreciates it.)
(The fact that I used the word publicly makes me miss my sister Isabel.)
(The fact that I just alluded to a couple of inside jokes makes me wince.)

Be patient.
You are not dead yet.
Maybe it is just winter.
The long sleepy time for gardens.
The perfect time to recharge your mind.

(I did not place this banana sticker on her head. I merely took a picture of it.)
Also the perfect time to cozy up with a cup of hot chocolate.

(She was trying to be Downton Abbey-ish - her words. I did not have the heart to tell her that ripped jeans were not early twentieth century, but late. I appreciated the attitude and the effort to sit up straight on the edge of her chair.)

Or enjoy a bit of silliness.

Or indulge in a bit of over-reaching introspection and wordiness. (The pictures made me do it.)