As onerous as winter can become, it makes the warmer days that start to burst forth like tiny flower buds that much more well earned.
Also, it's beautiful.
There is something about how things look in memories that makes them sometimes brighter or cozier or fuzzier. We've been talking very much about perceived memory Chez Meow lately– how three years can make a difference in how you remember the experience of having a baby, and how some things seem so memorable while others hang back unearthed altogether until a receipt or a picture or someone else's more vivid recollection thrusts it into the forefront of your own mind and makes you go, "OooOooOoooh!"
And so, with this little cabbage.
Many years from now, I may run into this picture of it, as it looked during a snowstorm the winter I became a mother for the second time, and until I do so, it may not hit me just how pale and delicate and otherwordly a plant can look under winter's delicate and deadly mantle.
And maybe I'll also remember how fuzzy and loving and naïve those earliest days of motherhood for two also looked under that particular cloak of happy, scared shitless, and tired from which I may one day emerge, ready to photosynthesize.
Or, you know, live.