the cold snap we had for nearly two weeks has finally receded. I enjoyed the change at first but after two days it was getting old and I missed the sun and quickly grew sick to death of all the belly-aching on the local news, in the supermarket, at work, etc. about how COLD it was and everyone kept whining: "But this is Flooooorida...."

I packed away all the extra quilts yesterday and hung the winter coats back in the hall closet, carefully winding the scarfs around the necks of each coat just in case the cold comes back for another quick visit before March when we can repack in earnest, tucking flowery dryer sheets between seldom-worn sweaters and fleece sweatshirts and such. Then I spent most of Sunday wandering around the yard oh-shitting over the melted plants in the butterfly garden. They look like someone took a flamethrower to them -- the pentas are black and incinerated and pitched to one side or the other, the bougainvilleas are falling over in drunken heaps, their fuchsia petals dissolving into puddles of primordial ooze on the brown (dead) grass. The lizards are back lounging on the deck but the rabbits that live underneath have yet to reappear. And I'm afraid to look too hard for the dragonflies and butterflies, which used to hover in cloudy swarms of yellow and pink and violet, dropping kisses on their favorite blossoms, strafing the gardenia tree, then coming back for more. Winter sucks.