Out of the coldest part of the Montana year,
the dance of seasons finds me,
surprises me,
even startles me a little.
Like some sneaky and inky-eyed weasel out of the thicket, maybe a martin....
Or maybe more than sneaky.
Like some sneaky and inky-eyed weasel out of the thicket, maybe a martin....
Or maybe more than sneaky.
Like every late-twenties birthday after 25.
I feel a little inky myself,
a bit like these ol' pupils couldn't soak in any more winter light if they tried.
What is it about this time of year
that makes me so....
that makes me so....
feisty.
The red-hot blood and pelt of my freckled and scarily-white skin
longs for warmer days, longer days.
My eyes crave the richness of the color green.
longs for warmer days, longer days.
My eyes crave the richness of the color green.
I am a slave to the scarce sun.
I care less and less about how many white flakes fall
and more about what the ocean sounds like
when waves crash against something solid.
when waves crash against something solid.
Like a beach. Or a boat.
February is always the hardest.
It's the middle of this frozen bastard season.
Not quite snowy, not totally committed to spring.
It's no-mans land for winter.
It's the middle of this frozen bastard season.
Not quite snowy, not totally committed to spring.
It's no-mans land for winter.
But the chickadees sing a little louder these mornings,
as if to solely gain my attention.
The air today is crisp and full of life,
A welcome break from the icy riff of weather we've been having.
The clouds zip by today as if they had somewhere east to be, and quick.
I feel a light hum of the day, a buzzing in my heart.
I hear chickens hollering in the distance,
wondering themselves when the white turns to green.
But rather than holler,
I've found a calmer sense of my mid-winter wanderlust.
I've found, today, a little winter dance rising in me.
A blue and beautiful sky to keep me,
for lack of a better word....
grounded.
......
Today,
Time to dance when you feel like hiding,
TIme to sing when you fear the air won't hold a tune.
TIme to sing when you fear the air won't hold a tune.
February' is not going anywhere.
And sometimes, it is really quite......lovely.
....
The Winter Ash:
A set of sterling silver fan-dangles,
all drippy and hammered,
with intricately carved Cinnabar beads.
For your winter dance....
And any other time you feel your season needs a little pick-up and pep.
......................................
Happy February.
To the dance.
