I'm pretty sure it happens every year at about this time.  With the onslaught of a cold February, the Texas skies are grey, the grass is brown and the plants are (disregarding my snazzy holly bushes and evergreens) colorless twigs. Basically, my yard is just plain ugly. Enter thoughts of warmer days, little bright green buds, robin's returning to the yard to pick-pick-pick at the grass in search of lazy hibernating worms.  Thoughts of  trips to the nursery to delightfully (and a bit greedily) pick out plants that are shockingly colorful (Hello Red, I missed you so!!).   Looking forward to blankets and toys being lugged out into the yard, days spent lazing about – catching the ice-cream man (who, by the way, really needs to add something to his repertoire other than The Entertainer– no disrespect meant to Scott Joplin) and  digging in the fresh soil.  I can almost feel the warming sun on my winter-pale skin.  Almost. 

It's just a couple of months away.  Thank goodness for books.