Weariness washes over me like the seeping gray of February thaw. Fingers of dampness seem to find their way into corners of my mind. It’s a day to detox.
I sit in meetings and watch the discussion, trying to get my mind to focus on the task at hand. Finding it too much effort, I doodle. Spurts of hard concentration produce reasonable work results but leave me unreasonably drained.
Too many weeks of life out of order.
A beach turns into a funeral.
A funeral becomes a celebration.
A celebration washed with tears.
Flowers cover the surfaces of my house, brightening the winter, and then wilt and fade.
The tyranny of schedule crashes into the midst of it all.
Travel is long and arduous. Too many planes, too many beds, too many days.
Presentations sparkle in the moment, but the effort drains every ounce of energy.
Relationships are rich and deep.
People, too many people.
Too many stories.
Lethargy.
And yet.
Twinkling delight in the clear blue eyes of a little boy in my kitchen.
Warmth in the comfort of two large cats settled on my knees.
Pleasure in the sweet smells of dinner cooked and ready on my arrival.
Cards and notes from around the world.
Huge hugs.
Companionship.
Comfort.
Camraderie.
Even in the winter of the soul there is deep understanding that the daffodils and tulips will come up in all their brilliance, splashing yellow and orange and red across my mind.
February is a short month.
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