Driving down Interstate 59 South below Tuscaloosa this week was an experience. It had rained for days, but the sun peeped through the clouds in the early afternoon. The redbuds and a tree with white blossoms were popping out. Seeing the color after months of grey brought a smile to my face. Knowing that March is only a few days away gives me hope.
I know that February is the shortest month of the year, but it seems to last longer than all the rest of the months combined. I know part of the reason that I feel down is that in the past, I’ve lost a lot of family and friends during February, but it’s more than that. It’s the quality of light on most days, and it’s usually rainy and cold.
When it’s cold in February, it seems to penetrate to the bone like a bruise.
What I love about March is that it comes with a promise. Spring arrives in just over two weeks. Soon, we’ll be planting early crops in our raised beds, and I’ll be cussing the tiller. Apparently, the old machine enjoys winter more than I do because it has to be coaxed to life. I’d get rid of it, but we use the old beast to plant the in-ground garden.
It had rained while we were sleeping last night. The skies looked promising this morning, so after coffee, we put on our warm clothes for a walk. Before finishing the first lap, the rain returned along with wind out of the northwest. The last leg of our walk was more of a run.
Even with the thermostat higher than we usually keep it, I shivered.
For lunch, Jilda made a pot of potato soup with small chunks of ham. There is something about warm soup. It seeps down deep into places and warms the soul. Hot soup gives me hope.
This evening, when I sat down at my office desk to write, I glanced up at the calendar on the wall. With my felt tip marker, I X’ed (is that a word?) off another day. “Only three days left in February,” I mused. This made me smile.
And then when I looked through my office window, I saw the sun shining on the yellow bell bush that’s just outside. It looked electric.
Reaching a stopping point, I put on a sweatshirt and my walking shoes. The dogs know the cues, so they were waiting by the door when I headed outside.
Just outside the backyard fence, I noticed that most of the blueberry bushes I planted in January have blossomed.
I was in no hurry, so when I reached the area where we have our beehives, I noticed that they were beginning to stir. I sat for a long time in the chair to watch. It was still cold, but the sun felt warm on my back.
When I looked up from where I was sitting, I noticed pink peach blossoms popping out on the ends of the branches.
By this weekend, the tree will be in full bloom. As I sat there, my spirit felt lighter. I could see March at the end of the tunnel.
I know that February is the shortest month of the year, but it seems to last longer than all the rest of the months combined. I know part of the reason that I feel down is that in the past, I’ve lost a lot of family and friends during February, but it’s more than that. It’s the quality of light on most days, and it’s usually rainy and cold.
When it’s cold in February, it seems to penetrate to the bone like a bruise.
What I love about March is that it comes with a promise. Spring arrives in just over two weeks. Soon, we’ll be planting early crops in our raised beds, and I’ll be cussing the tiller. Apparently, the old machine enjoys winter more than I do because it has to be coaxed to life. I’d get rid of it, but we use the old beast to plant the in-ground garden.
It had rained while we were sleeping last night. The skies looked promising this morning, so after coffee, we put on our warm clothes for a walk. Before finishing the first lap, the rain returned along with wind out of the northwest. The last leg of our walk was more of a run.
Even with the thermostat higher than we usually keep it, I shivered.
For lunch, Jilda made a pot of potato soup with small chunks of ham. There is something about warm soup. It seeps down deep into places and warms the soul. Hot soup gives me hope.
This evening, when I sat down at my office desk to write, I glanced up at the calendar on the wall. With my felt tip marker, I X’ed (is that a word?) off another day. “Only three days left in February,” I mused. This made me smile.
And then when I looked through my office window, I saw the sun shining on the yellow bell bush that’s just outside. It looked electric.
Reaching a stopping point, I put on a sweatshirt and my walking shoes. The dogs know the cues, so they were waiting by the door when I headed outside.
Just outside the backyard fence, I noticed that most of the blueberry bushes I planted in January have blossomed.
I was in no hurry, so when I reached the area where we have our beehives, I noticed that they were beginning to stir. I sat for a long time in the chair to watch. It was still cold, but the sun felt warm on my back.
When I looked up from where I was sitting, I noticed pink peach blossoms popping out on the ends of the branches.
By this weekend, the tree will be in full bloom. As I sat there, my spirit felt lighter. I could see March at the end of the tunnel.
