Time Machine

Someone turned on the time machine last night. Fortunately, I had drifted back just a month or so, into February, before the alarm propelled me into my day. A cool number on the calendar – 4/5/6.
A couple inches of snow surrounded the daffodils, which only a couple days ago had been struggling to make an appearance and had finally broken through the frozen earth. Now this – again. Some greeting for them after so long an absence.
I surveyed the tracks in the yard as my coffee maker finished its daily death rattle. The whiteness of the snow looked so melancholy. Here and there the daffodils and brave hyacinths looked like they had been planted in snow instead of soil. Crocuses, like the local baseball team, were saying, “wait ‘til next year.”