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Today I collected all the gloves, mittens, wooly caps and scarves into a pile on the floor.

There they lay in a mismatched jumble of color, style, and size.  I picked them up as best as I could in one armful and carried them, less a few escapees, to the washing machine.

I stuffed them into the washer, collected the strays, poured in the detergent and slammed the lid on a winter I hope we don’t repeat anytime soon.

When they were laundered, I matched up pairs as best as I could, folded and categorized and put them away in that place they go to wait the next chill, thy name is Rubbermaid.

Only light jackets remain; they’re still needed in fits and spurts of morning and evening coolness.  But the big guns are gone, and I feel an airiness because of it.

In a similar leap of faith in the garden, I planted out the tomatoes and pepper plants this weekend.

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Technically I shouldn’t be doing this because our frost-free date isn’t for another 2 weeks. It’s my way of thumbing my nose at winter. Let’s hope it doesn’t turn out more like spitting into the wind.

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The tulips and the daffodils certainly think it’s spring.

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And who am I to question this face?

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