How I See It, Volume 1, number 3, March 1999 How I See It With the bright, intense sunlight of March, spring and summer seem as though they may actually come again this year. During the cold parts of winter, thoughts of green leaves and flowers appear as vestiges of my imagination, primordial dreams. But for some time now, seed catalogs have been sprouting in my mailbox. More arrive every day. Their choices abound, their colours dazzle, their sirens call from every page. I am filled with excitement. "I’ll take one of everything, please." But wait. Stop, I tell myself. Deeper memories are coming forth and I remember the years of starts and transplants on every flat surface in the house, and being reduced to eating meals on the floor ("a picnic" I would say to my family) because the table had been usurped in the proliferation. Then there’s the constant watering and repotting, and then caring for them in the garden. But I must have some. I grab my coat and run to the local supermarket. In five minutes I have filled my arms with daffodils and tulips, and am rushing home. I’ll deal with the guilt of instant gratification later, buy my transplants from the Farmers Market when it opens in May, and have the best of both worlds.
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