“FEBRUARY. Frosty, Feisty, Fleeting”. I read that somewhere and thought how “fleeting” is the word that has the most appeal, because I am officially admitting that I am weary of Winter. Perhaps, it’s really that I am weary of the dreariness in the world, near and far. A dear, dear friend, who’s been living in the strictest of Covid bubbles the past two plus years, is now quite ill with Covid. I’m dropping off soup today for another dear, dear friend, who goes to the hospital for her weekly chemotherapy. In watching the PBS Newshour broadcast last night, there was a segment showing the diplomats at the United Nations, weeping and gnashing over what to do about Russia and Ukraine. They were, of course, all masked and I thought about a photo of them, in a history textbook someday, in which the author wrote about the time when the whole world was terrified of the breath from another human being. We didn’t make it to Candlemas at our house and the goal of keeping the Christmas tree up inside. There were bright sunshine days in a row about a week ago, and more light in the sky, and I felt we didn’t need the fairy lights inside anymore, so we put the lit tree out on the porch, which was a lovely compromise. It blew over in the winds of the latest weather front, but Don tied it up to the railing, thank goodness, because I do need it on these dreary days.
It’s actually lightly snowing today–which is a nice change. We’re supposed to have a couple of nights of sub-zero temperatures with this Arctic front which blew in. After being ahead, we’re now behind in snow pack, and snow in February is always a good thing, even if one proclaims they are tired of Winter. I am quite certain the groundhog will see his shadow tomorrow, so we trudge on in this season, in everyone’s least favorite month. I find a wee bit of poetry from the Irish can help on a days where you need to ‘Lie low to the wall/Until the bitter weather passes.”
This is the Time to be Slow, John O’Donohue
“This is the time to be slow,
Lie low to the wall
Until the bitter weather passes.
Try, as best you can, not to let
The wire brush of doubt
Scrape from your heart
All sense of yourself
And your hesitant light.
If you remain generous,
Time will come good;
And you will find your feet
Again on fresh pastures of promise,
Where the air will be kind
And blushed with beginning.”