I'm having garden envy.
There is no other way to say it.
The sun is a coy tease here in Seattle, with flirty sparkling lashes and a grand cape of green . I have been preening over my house plants, sticking fingers in the soil just to bring them up with grim under my finger nails (I feel like Amelie, questionably enamored with sticking her hands into bags of lentils, the feeling of all those little beans jostling cozily against her skin). I have been eyeing the neighbor's sage plant, wandering off the sidewalk just far enough to rub my hands inside the brush and sniff them deeply, slyly snipping off chunks of lavender to tuck behind my ears.
Apartment dwelling can be tough.
Today I need more space. And dirt. And the scent of tomato leaves. And sweat trickling down the backs of my knees as I work tirelessly in the garden. I want to visit here and buy whole flats of flowers and starter veggies (don't get me wrong, my new tiny African Violet, miniature fern for the mosserarium and peace lily for the studio - apparently the best plant for filtering paint-fumed air - are all wonderful but...).
The kitty boys have the restlessness too. They've been moody in the sunshine and I know they too want to roll in the dirt and snip the blooms off the alliums. I've been bringing the outdoors in for them, gathering up casserole-dish-sized selections of dandelion greens, blooming clover, fresh spearmint and wild grasses then arranging mini green-forts for them to play in.
I like to think it's helping.
But who knows. This city gal might return to the country life before too long, dragging her little urbanite felines along, sipping mint tea on a front porch somewhere, popping cherry tomatoes like candy.
So what do you think? Where should BC and I move?