In Abeyance

My garden muse has scheduled a
meeting with me. I have a fairly good
idea what it is she wishes to discuss. We
both heard a rumour that spring has arrived
yet neither she nor I are convinced based
on all signs pointing otherwise; at the very
least that spring has spurned us this year.
Cold, ferocious winds, never-ending
rain events are bedevilling the garden
most unreasonably for a season expected
to herald in new life. Tentative shoots of
early risers out of the newly ice-bound
soil are confused to be confronted with
definite signals of winter conditions. And
nor is there much relief in sight, with
snow flurries circulating in the atmosphere
and spring continuing to hesitate on the
sidelines without the merest hint of any
contrition. She and I, me and the garden
muse will ruminate and console one
another on this predicament we now face
debating whether it is spring's decision to
cancel her appearance this year altogether
despite that all seats to her grand entrance
have been sold out. How do we break this
news to the breathlessly expectant garden?