February, I will love you if it kills me.
Love the snow and the cold and the grey and the ice and even the slippery. Love the shortness of days that creep towards longer, bumping into obstacles, often. Love the bare and the stark, and the black silhouette of web and lace against a sky of no color.
The tall, tawny grasses peeking out from beneath their white blanket, bending in the wind that blows through them. The stillness of an evening filled with gently falling snow, giant cotton ball flakes in no hurry to reach their destination. The night with no wind, just me and the sky and all this white.
I will love the blizzard in its rage, all furious and frenzied, knocking at my door, let me in, in, in. Love the snow caps and the drifts, the boots and the shovels. And I will embrace these muted tones of grey on white, black on blue, beige on beige.
Because I know that beneath you, February, spring lies in wait. I like to picture her there, smiling in her dress of green, getting ready for the party.
Flower seeds round her neck, roots as her hair, warmth as her bracelet.
TrackBack URL for this entry: