Last weekend I developed an advanced case of cabin fever. It hit like a shock wave as my car was sliding down the driveway into a snow bank on the opposite side from the garage door.
Our driveway goes straight down from the road and currently resembles a shimmering Alaskan ice field. Even a polar bear with its five inch claws and fur covered pigeon toed feet couldn't get traction here.
It is high time that spring put a tentative toe in the door. Walking up the driveway to the roadside mailbox or filling the bird feeders have become limb threatening activities.
And then there's the morning issue. I find no incentive to get out of bed when my nose is as cold as a popsicle. For the last week the AM temperatures have been single digits (above and below zero) and the wind Arctic blasts. The only sensible response to this situation is pulling the quilt over the head and going back to sleep; i.e., hibernation.
The snow hasn't been a stranger, either. I took three trips to the carwash last week in a valiant attempt to remove the patina of salt and slush that permanently envelopes my car.
Try as I might, I've only found one glimmer of hope. A few days ago I spotted a huge Sandhill Crane, an early returnee from its winter home in Florida. It was gliding down from the gray skies for a perfect landing in a nearby wetland.
If the thermometer ever hits fifty, expect to see us dancing naked in the melting snow banks.
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