I like the surreal mornings.

Paul and Amy Jo have been using our home as one of a couple bases as they remodel their new house, which is just a mile away from us in Oak Grove. They stayed over last night. This morning when I woke up, I was startled by the sounds of a rather large cat. Or so I thought. It took me a moment to realize that it wasn’t a cat I was hearing, but one of our houseguests.

Meanwhile, I just couldn’t drag myself out of bed. This is has been a problem since our vacation, and it’s odd. I’ve always been an easy riser — quick to wake up, get up, stand up. Not lately, though. Something happened on our vacation and I’ve learned to linger under the covers.

Today I finally got up after six, pulled on the clothes I wore yesterday, and stumbled out the door. This is something else I picked up while on vacation. I took a limited amount of clothing to Europe, so I became accustomed to wearing the same clothes over and over. I knew that today I was going to be the only one in the office, with no danger of having to see anyone, so I just took the easy way out and wore what I’d worn before.

I walked down the sidewalk, turned toward my car, and stopped in my tracks. Something was fishy. Simon was out by the road (which is a little strange in itself), but he wasn’t coming to me. He seemed to be stalking something around the tires of my Focus. I stepped into the road for a better view, and what did I see? An orange rabbit.

Kris likes to tell stories of the wild hares she sees around the crime lab (which is located in a wetlands), but we don’t get them around our house. And besides, an orange rabbit like this must surely be a pet. I was worried for it. Simon was keen on it, and he was nearly twice its size. But Simon didn’t seem to be particularly aggressive. Quite the opposite, in fact. He sniffed at it, and then he flopped to the ground and rolled, as if it were his best friend and he was glad to see it. It was bizarre.

I went to get Kris. We followed Simon and the rabbit to the driveway, where we discovered Oreo, the neighbor cat (and Simon’s nemesis), also intent on the orange rabbit.

“What should we do?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” said Kris. “There’s no way to tell where it belongs.”

She was right. Though I really wanted to catch it, the thing was too skittish. Meanwhile, Simon was becoming a little more than friendly. He had that look in his eye. Against his protests, Kris grabbed him and carried him into the house. Meanwhile, the rabbit hop-sprinted from one end of our property to the other, sticking to the road.

Our neighbor Curt drove by in his jumbo-sized clanking diesel pickup. He stopped for a witty word or two, laughing at our rabbit-hunting attempts. But our attempts didn’t go on long. We had no plan. We had no idea how to catch the orange rabbit or what to do with it after we’d succeeded. So we just gave up.

Someplace on our property, there’s a strange orange bunny. I just hope it’s able to survive the day, and to somehow return to its owner.

It’s chilly outside, but clear. The wind is blowing. My hands are cold.

I walk to the garage to find my old copy of Photoshop Elements — I’m giving it to Amy Jo so that she can cast aside iPhoto for something more useful. She’s re-vitalized From a Corner Table, her foodblog (and more!), and is looking for a good way to post images.

The garage is cold. I find the CD, and then get distracted by a couple of books. I’m startled by a kuh-whump behind me and turn to find that Simon is on the hood of Kris’ car. Simon loves to be with people in the outbuildings. He trills at me and I pet him. His fur is warm.

“You’ve been outside in the sun, haven’t you buddy?” I say. He butts his head against my palm for more petting.

He follows me out of the garage, and I lock up. As I do, I turn my back to the sun and find myself sinking, sinking, sinking into its warmth. It’s delicious. I’m standing in the lee of the building so that the air is still, and all I can feel is the sunlight all around me. It’s been so long. I’d forgotten how wonderful this warmth can be. November, December, January, February — all so cold and bleak. But now we’re just ten days from meteorological spring, and the sun is sending advance promises that yes, it will soon be here.

I come inside to find Kris sitting on a bench, her back resting against the bay window, typing about food. (Kris needs her own blog, don’t you think?) Meatball is at her feet, also in the sun. And next to him is Toto, whose black fur is like a sunlight battery, absorbing the stuff for later use. It’s wonderful.

Kris and I spent a couple of hours in the yard yesterday. On Friday, John Gingerich stopped by to show us how to prune our fruit trees, and to give us advice on other plant-related matters. Yesterday we put some of this advice into practice.

I did a wide variety of garden-related chores.

• I taked the fruit trees, tying them up in an effort to help them grow upright.
• I cut the all the ferns back to the ground (a massive undertaking).
• I covered the laurely stump in black plastic (and leaves) in an effort to impede its desire to re-grow. I can’t take the damn thing out because it’s too close to the sidewalk.
• I raked leaves from the vegetable plot, worked a small patch of soil, and planted peas.
• I tied up some berry canes.

There’s still more to be done, of course — there’s always more to be done — but this is a good start on the season. I need to get the boxwood pruned in the next couple weeks if I’m going to do that at all this year.

We did our yardwork yesterday because it was supposed to be warm. It rained. It was supposed to rain today. It’s overcast with sunbreaks. Go figure.

These past two Sundays have been brilliant. The air is cool, but the sun is shining. Kris and I have our chores done, so we’re able to loaf around the house, basking in the warmth of the parlor. We listen to opera. She reads her book. I write. The cats come and go.

We’ve even made brave forays onto the front porch where it’s warm (11 degrees centigrade — that’s about 52 degrees Fahrenheit for those of you named Tammy) but windy. The cats love it when we’re out on the porch. We prop open the screen with a shoe, and the six of us do our thing.

Max is a little wary of all the noise. He loved being outside when he lived at Custom Box, but it was quiet there. Here there are all sorts of nasty sounds, especially the barking of dogs. He hates the barking of dogs. But the sound of power equipment in the neighbor’s back yard doesn’t please him, either, nor do the chimes jingling in the wind. Or the cars surging by on the street. Or the planes overhead. He’d prefer things were quieter.

Simon, meanwhile, sits on the bottom step, surveying his kingdom. For truly, he is the ruler here. We are all his subjects. He looks from the street to the garden to the grapes. He looks up at us. “You need to plant the peas,” he seems to say. “Remember how if you don’t plant the peas by mid-February you regret it?” But I ignore him.

Nemo fidgets. He cannot sit still. And Toto sits on a chair, growling occasionally when one of us ventures too close.

Yes, the cold of the winter has passed us by, and we’ve now entered that strange period of time just before the coming of meteorological spring. In Oregon this means rain, of course, though not so much this year. (We’re way behind on our rainfall totals again.)

Kris and I have begun to make half-hearted efforts at yardwork. I mowed the lawn a couple weeks ago. I cut back my grapes last week. Today I gathered up fallen limbs from the winter windstorms. Next weekend Jenn will stop by with Jeremy’s dad. In exchange for some branches of flowering quince (one of the first things to bloom here), they’ll show us how to prune our fruit trees. Next weekend Kris will also prune the roses.

The camellias are all on the verge of bloom: they’re covered with hundreds of tight little buds which will explode at any moment.

A sunny Sunday in February is a very fine thing.

And later this afternoon we’ll pick ourselves up and become a flurry of motion. Tonight we’re hosting the MNF group for our annual Ham Feast. It’ll be an evening of sociability and fun.