February

Dar Williams wrote a song about February.  It’s so sad, and so gorgeous.  I play it on the guitar sometimes on my couch, and it’s a little too high for me, but I sing it anyway.  It’s about a relationship dissolving, and that’s not my issue, but what she says about forgetting all the beautiful things you’ve sowed, towards the end of a dreary winter?  That’s real.

I’ve got February all over me.  It happens every year, and I forget that it’s going to happen, and therefore managed to stay surprised when February freezes itself and everything around it into a slow eventual paralysis.  Sometimes instead of a freezing it’s a violent early thaw, resulting in torrents and mudslides and storms.  Some years it’s both.

Because it’s seasonal, it’s also cyclical, and that means February will end.  In about five days, in fact.  It’s merciful that it’s a short month.  Most years I think the overarching problem is just that winter has dragged on too long, and the light is still dim, and the weather is dismal, and it’s too late for snow, but spring seems an eternity away.  It’s worn on everyone, and so the weather and the collective mood combine to make things miserable on all fronts.

I thought that scheduling some delightful international travel for this month might keep February at bay, but February doesn’t work that way.  If you forestall it, it just comes back with a vengeance, and that’s absolutely been the case this year.

In my kitchen yesterday, I was trying to decide whether I feel like going face-down, or belly-up, or whether another metaphor works better.  I haven’t worked it out yet.

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