What a lovely day in February

My Valentine rosebuds are opening into lush and lovely blooms, and the mountains of snow are melting away from the lawn furniture (ruined, I suspect) and the mist is low, vanishing the city and turnign the trees into lovely ghosts as if on a wild and lonesome moor. I used to love days like this when I was a girl. I could imagine unicorns in the mists and knights and maidens fair.

I was a romantic girl... I used to cut ads for Jessica McClintock out of 17 Magazine and pore over the Banana Republic-as-was catalog, dreaming of adventure. I read ghost stories and wanted to live on Masterpiece Theater or Anne of Green Gables.

Now I realize how much a creature of the Merchant-Ivory/Romancing the Stone times I was, but then I felt fresh and new, a stranger in a stranger land, unique and wandering and wondering. I read Yeats and Anne McCaffrey with equal wonder and pleasure.