Winter is a prison

I hate it. I hate the month of March in coastal New England. Brutal winds. Rain and sleet. Cold empty infinite blue skies. Deer so hungry they eat backyard birdseed. Mounds of snow shrink to patches and then we slip on ice and slog through mud. Bare trees scratch the sky like claws. And yet… there is also the first tease of green in the red maple swamp when the humble skunk cabbage (by a process known as thermogenesis) lights a fire in its vegetable heart, melts its prison of ice and grows.

I want to have a hot green heart like that.