We are going into a thaw, and soon all the snow will melt away into cold mushy February struggle with Springs resurrection. Good riddance. The snow has become that melted down gray laced pall that late winter ages into. I take no joy in Februarys. Its Valentine reds are too garish and its whites are artificial, I look forward to the nefarious ides of March. March is a month I like. I like the winds and the smell of springs promise. I like the way the old is whisked away and the new is sprouting imperiously through the frost cracks of the soil. The new will conquer, it will rise up upon the old and blare its triumphant trumpet of life from the dead.
Yes, I like March. But February it is, and I will make my way to the seed racks of the stores and buy my beginnings in the hope of a new season.
So, February is good for something: it is good for looking forward, through.
