It seems that around here we're on track for the 6th warmest winter ever. And with news like that, you'd think I'd be hip-hip-hooraying or engaged in some other sort of celebrating. But I'm not. Why? Well, because it's still winter. And, yes, temps of 39 or 40 or 45 are really mild for this time of year, and those kinds of temps are definitely better than, say, 20 or 0 or -10, but it's still winter. The grass is still brown and dormant, the trees are still leafless (though they all are sporting new buds, have been for several weeks, in fact, which is WAY too early and makes me wonder what will happen to the tender shoots when the inevitable hammer of winter falls), and the gray days still far outnumber the blue ones. Maybe spending the few extra dollars in my pocket as a result of this season's heating bills being less than last year's bills would be a good way to mark this record-setting year. But I probably won't. Why? Well, because -- say it with me -- it's still winter. Bleh.
February.
For being the shortest month of the year, I sure seem to have a hard time getting through it. If I were to look back at posts made around this time last year or the year before, I'm sure I'd find similar rants against winter, against the cold, sunless days in general. Even though I've lived up "north" for more years than I care to count, I'm still a Southern girl at heart. I need sun. I need warmth. I need spring flowers poking up through the soil, our arms joined and raised skyward heralding the end of winter.
When will we see spring around here? March? April? Yes, sometime in April. Too many weeks away to count.
It's clear that I live in the wrong part of the country.
