In February, it’s the sun that is the headliner.
Sure, you notice the patches of ice, the crystallized, granulated goodness of snow that changes consistency on an hourly basis, and the lack of foliage on your— all bark with no bite— deciduously inclined lawn ornaments. But, it’s the warmth of the sun that sets February apart from the other winter months.
It’s all about science and angles, but as we lumber toward the March equinox, the sun begins to glance off your face in a manner that is much more welcoming than it was in December and January.
It’s much like the fourth date with the shy lass from your sophomore year. Four dates meant that at least four Fridays had passed since the flirtatious locker-side chats turned to the full-on feeling of “This must be love, but if it isn’t, it sure ain’t bad.”
Maybe the relationship had turned the corner, and you were coming up on, “I should surely take this lady to the Dairy Queen on two-for-one brazier burger night; I’ll skip the chili dogs for this woman.”
In our current communicative state, the excessive texting and ridiculously overused emojis would have turned the relationship sour in half that time; the February sun is a far more reliable way to warm your cold winter bones. It comes on slow and strong.
I would have made the connection to brewing a good cup of coffee, but the angle of the sun made me consider how I have loved the feeling of a sunbeam on my face since long before my sophomore year, and it’s even more welcome now. I make far too many coffee analogies already.
I enjoyed growing up in a slower time. I appreciated the personal relationship that I built with the seasonal changes, even while ignoring the scientific reasons for them.
And what pleasant and shy lass wouldn’t want to be compared to the warmth that’s provided by a sunny February day? Probably most of them, but most are not all, and that suits me just fine. I’ll stand in the sun today.
(Copyright Timothy Cotton 2021)