I’m out of words for a variety of reasons. If winter was a fishing reel, someone set the drag two notches past perfect.
It’s an expected doldrum. It usually hits me before February pulls into her parking space. I’m happy to help January pack up its black Samsonite filled with moth-chewed wool sweaters and socks with holes near the little toe; very annoying.
I find February to be a brighter houseguest. February smiles more.
I have lots of friends who complain about February. I see their point. She can bring some freezing weather. However, February comes equipped with a better heater. The sun crawls a little higher into the sky. Who can complain about it? Oh, someone will, for sure.
Snowbanks will start to honeycomb and crystalize within a few weeks under more powerful sunbeams. Water will drip from icy enclaves in the roof gutters, thus creating comforting drips and drops from temporary glaciers.
There will be more sun on our faces. I’ve written before and will write again— the warm sun on my face makes me feel better. Squinting to see a distant beacon, like June, is the perfect excuse for the laugh lines around my eyes. You can refer to them as wrinkles, but I know better.
February initially brings frigid air, but later in the month, she will surprise us with a temporary thaw. It always happens. Well, only sometimes, but where is the fun in a guarantee?
From the Jagged Edge of America, I remain,