If Winter comes, can Spring be far behind?
How sad to be a unwanted guest, one accused of reaching it’s icy tendrils into the cracks of all surfaces, and leaving a trail of white where ever it’s cloak is dragged.
Winter we do not love you, or at least very few of us do. Those that claim you as friend, not foe are subjected to a deriding roll of the eyes when they turn their backs on us. We seriously doubt that they know their own minds when they claim to enjoy this frigid season.
Is it not in the very core of our soul to long for spring? To hope for that renewal, to depend upon the longer days, the lightening of the morning skies?
If you are a gardener, you count the minutes of light that are added onto each day’s end. You reach for the curtains in the morning to see if there are slivers of illumination before you eat your breakfast. You peruse the bare branches, interrogating them, do you have any green yet?
You watch the ground for those first small weeds that signal a change, welcoming them only during this time of the year. Later you will destroy them with a vengeance, now you sing to them.
Your ear is tuned to birdsong, hoping that the chirping birds are searching for each other, the cawing of the crows in the early morning signifying the time to build a nest.
For winter is a unwelcome guest, one that we cannot seem to evict at this time of year, the not too subtle hints we are leaving going over it’s head. Stubborn, nasty, unwelcome.
And it cannot change our mind.
Jen @ Muddy Boot Dreams