This may come as a huge shock, but I am not exactly a fan of winter. I know I hide it really well, but it’s true. I don’t like to be cold, I don’t like snow, the endless muddy trail of bootprints in the house makes me want to cry. And as much as I hate to go out in it, being trapped in the house is hardly better. One should never have to go too many days without the feel of sunlight on one’s face. (One=me, and anyone else who has a bit of seasonal affective stuff going on.)
February is often my most difficult month. Winter has been dragging on long enough that I am DONE with it, even if it isn’t done with me. Spring is still far off in the distance. I’m tired and restless and searching for something I can’t seem to find.
Every now and then February yields a day just warm enough to break through the sameness of the winter doldrums. The sun shines and the air feels cool but not biting. The scent on the wind carries a faint trace of earth rather than just endless ice and snow.
On those days, I turn my face towards the sun and try to imagine its glare carries more warmth than it does. I try to capture the reprieve and allow it to make spring feel closer… and if I’m very lucky, it will brush the tips of my fingers before it slips away again.
Today I watched the snow melting. As I closed my eyes to the sunlight, I swear I smelled freshly cut grass. At that moment winter receded and happiness was mine.
I’m still waiting for the moment to pass, but so grateful that it hasn’t.