|Blogs > Zaphed905 > The Woodshed|
Wow, no need for the weight bench today. I worked up a good sweat just cleaning up in the greenhouse. I'm still putting up hardwood cuttings, but before you know it, it's gonna be time to start seed trays.
With these sunny days, the cooling system kicks on by noon to keep the temperature down to 85. I go in there with my coat and hat, but strip down pretty quickly. It's a shock to step outside and realize that it's still winter.
Sort of repetetive work. Once the hands learn the job, the brain wanders. To where, do you suppose? The gutter, of course!
The greenhouse would be a great place for a mid-winter encounter.
You have come over to work with the plants, for some reason that I can't come up with just now. As we carry the trays and buckets back and forth in the narrow aisles, we frequently have to squeeeeze past each other. As we get warmer, and our clothes cling more tighly, the squeeezing leaves less and less to the imagination.
I reach for the pruning shears. You reach for the rootone jar. Our arms get tangled up and...
The sun beams down on the frozen hills. Rays bounce off of a snow bank and through the greenhouse wall. The light is filtered through leaves of lush green plants and down to a small clearing that we have made on a center bench. We are entwined on a pile of insulated panels. The heat of our passion raises a funky fog that rivals that of the hermetic forest. We roll over and you lean down to...
Damn! The phone is ringing. I've gotta run down to the orchard and fix a pump. I shrug on my heavy coat and slog out into the cold. The fantasy vanishes in a wisp of doomed humidity as the greenhouse door swings shut.