Another cold day: now this is winter. The snow is squeaky underfoot, the chickens' water frozen. Last night I checked in on them and found their water gone so refilled it. There's something bemusing about eight hens clucking happily as they drink. Drinking hens is something I never thought of before having them - you can't exactly slurp if you don't have lips, right? So they scoop water into their beaks and then turn their heads up and drink it while opening and closing their beaks. It looks funnily like a group of sommeliers tasting a vintage wine. If I could understand the clucking I think they would be saying, "this has real character, without too many overtones of oak"
But as to promise, the title of the post: this morning I noticed one of the onions that I keep in a basket on the kitchen counter ready for cooking had sprouted some little green fingerlings of shoots out the top. And despite the cold, I thought of spring and gardening and getting my hands in the dirt (oh, the smell). So I think this evening, after the day's work is done, I will cozy up by the fire with a glass of wine in one hand and the Vesey's seed catalogue in the other and dream happy thoughts of spring. As always, my dreaming will run far ahead of what I will actually accomplish. But then, isn't that what dreams are for?