Strawberry Rhubarb Rolls with Lime Glaze

How swiftly the strained honey
of afternoon light
flows into darkness

and the closed bud shrugs off
its special mystery
in order to break into blossom:

as if what exits, exists
so that it can be lost
and become precious.

~ "In Passing" by Lisel Mueller

Today is a young, tart strawberry. It's not quite ripe enough to be an ample morning but I've been up since 5:34 am; it feels as though it ought to be noon, at least.

I haven't been able to slip into my springtime aura. Mornings are too crisp and my icy fingertips still curl too tightly around a cosy forest green electric blanket. For as much as my body craves the sheet-less languid nights of summer, I will miss the ritual nesting & burrowing that comes with frost tinged sunsets. There is something undeniably soothing about being able to immerse oneself into the safe confines of a heated blanket and soft flannel sheets. That rapturous warmth after so much cold...like the embrace of a long lost lover or a dryer-fluffed towel draped over chilly shoulders. Yes, dear forest green blanket, you will be missed on hot July nights.

This nascent strawberry morning finds & fills me with wistful thoughts, secret longings, a third cup of strong, creamy coffee, and two leftover rolls (gently heated in the microwave). Oh, to be in love in cruel April. xo
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