It's the end of January and as dark as Washington winters come, but there is still a little bit of light pushing through. Lately I've been waking up to a thin blanket of snow on the ground, branches that I expect to be stripped of leaves bear the weight of this mysterious white substance. Sometimes the forecasters freak out the schools and I have a surprise day off or a late start. People complain that their precious schedules have been thrown off or that the roads are trecherous. I just smile for a break in the norm.
By noon, the roads are clear and the branches barren again, except for the tiny buds forming. The young birch tree outside my window sways back and forth, its crown bending toward the ground until I'm sure I will hear a snap, but miraculously it continues to thrive.
The orchid I bought last summer bloomed briefly, then went dormant. A few weeks ago I noticed it sprouted another stem and every day I watch over it to coax its buds open. Perched on my window sill it sits, shyly opening it's petals, pushing through the cold dark winter.
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