The flowers I brought in last fall — geraniums, dusty miller, kalanchoe and cyclamen — flourished all winter and were the most spectacular that I’ve ever grown. I’m not sure why. That unheated room was no warmer nor any cooler than in years past. I gave them no more fertilizer than usual (a pinch in the watering can whenever I watered), and they are the same varieties as usual. But all the stars must have been in alignment because they have bloomed their pretty little heads off. They lifted my heart every time I walked into the room and to see all that red against the one good snow we got really took my breath away.
But all good things come to an end. That window ledge is bare now. All the plants are back outside, either in the ground or in pots on the porches. Yesterday we cleaned the gazebo and brought down the table for my laptop. It’s my best place to write — no Internet, no phones, no interruptions except for the birds and an occasional lizard. I have one final speaking engagement today and then it’s a solid month of writing, with nothing to break my concentration till June. Bliss! (I just hope the book blooms as lustily as the flowers.)
