About a year ago I wrote a post about the month of February. I wasn’t very kind to February in that post.
This time of year in New England tends to be dark and gray often. You don’t see many people just strolling around outside unless they’re dressed in 18 layers, looking chilled to the bone.
The sounds of children swinging and climbing monkey bars at playgrounds, baseball bats connecting with baseballs and lawn sprinklers turning on are still weeks away.
This winter, especially, the sounds of snow blowers, snow plows and driveways getting shoveled have been most common.
And yet, I’m not feeling that same February funk I felt last year for some reason. In fact, as I look outside my window as I type this, the snow alternating between gently falling and whipping wildly, I feel the beauty and necessity of February more than anything.
In 8 short weeks it will be the beginning of April. The grass will be green, not white with snow. The sounds of snow blowers will be replaced by lawn mowers. Neighbors will linger outside to chat when they see each other, rather than give a quick wave as they run to the warmth of their houses.
8 short weeks.
8 weeks ago I took a trip up to North Conway, NH with my family, including Audrey and her boys… and it just doesn’t seem like that long ago.
And now, just 8 more weeks until the sounds and sights of Spring.
So I will be content on this snowy February day, and look at it as part of the glorious, wonderful, mysterious cycle of life.
Come to think of it, it also doesn’t seem like that long ago that I wrote that post last February. And yet, 12 whole months have gone by.
Time, like the flakes of snow now gusting toward my window, has a way of flying, doesn’t it?