It is 37˚ and cloudy, but it felt warmer than that when I went to get the papers. The clouds have the look of rain, but no rain is predicted. A warm-up is supposed to be coming next week, maybe even a little bit of spring. It is almost time to look for green shoots in the garden.

When I was a kid, I never noticed flowers. My father planted mostly pansies in the small front garden of our house, but I only noticed them because some of the flowers were planted near the front steps so I saw them when I was coming and going. Pansies always looked to me as if they had faces and were wearing hats, wide brim frilly hats. Somehow I always thought of pansies as garden sprites.

My mother used to read books to me when I was little. We started with Golden Books, and by the time I was two, I had learned the names of all the animals on the backs of the books. My mother told me she’d point to an animal, and I’d identify it and even make the sound if it had one. When I was a bit older, my mother read longer stories to me. I remember The Billy Goats’ Gruff and the troll under the bridge. I also remember Little Black Sambo and how smart he was making the tigers chase each other until they turned to butter. I still remember the illustration of the tigers chasing each other around that tree. I didn’t notice Little Black Sambo was actually Black. I thought that was just his name. Hansel and Gretel were tricky and smart. The witch wasn’t. I loved that Gretel pushed the witch into the hot oven. She was my hero.

I never was afraid of witches or trolls. I knew they weren’t real. They were just characters from the pages of books though I might have hesitated crossing a wooden bridge or looked underneath just in case. I did believe fairies were real. I saw them with my own eyes in the field below my backyard. They blinked in the summertime.

By late afternoon yesterday, the temperature had started to plummet. It got cold, bone chilling cold. Even poor Henry was cold when he came inside the house from a quick bathroom run. I didn’t mind the cold so much. It is, after all, still winter but then the wind started. It was so loud the freight train cliche jumped in to my head because it sounded just like that. A couple of times Henry looked up when his attention grabbed by the wind rattling windows. When I let him out for his last bathroom run, he wanted in right away. The wind was tremendous and so very loud, emphasis on the loud. I watched Henry crouch and run upstairs to the door. I let him. After we had gone to bed, the wind howled from the north, and I could hear the branch closest to my bedroom window. Henry was on edge. He is still not great with the unexpected, but after a while, even Henry went to sleep.

Today is cold and windy but a pretty day with sun and a blue sky. When I let Henry out this morning, he made a quick dash out and back. Now he is asleep on the couch. The cats are asleep upstairs.

When I was a kid, I remember windy days and walking across the field below my street. I’d spread out my arms hoping the wind would catch me. My coat billowed. Sometimes my hat took off on its own route, and I’d have to chase it. But once we got beyond the field, the houses on each side of the road protected us from the wind. School was a quick walk from there.

Woolworth’s sold kites. They were made with balsa wood and tissue-like paper. You had to be gentle when putting the kite together because the wood could break or the tissue paper tear. I’d buy the kite and a reel of twine. I’d look around the house for something to use for the kite’s tail. When the kite was all together, I’d go down to the field on a windy day and fly my kite. I remember holding it in my hand at the cross wood in the middle and running with it waiting for the wind. The kite soared into the air higher and higher after the wind caught it. Nothing was more amazing than the kite flying high in the air with the sky as a back drop. I felt the wind. I was the kite.