thank you, February

Thank you, February, for flying by. In recent years, you have stuck around like ice on my car in a snowstorm. An even four weeks of misery and shivering and chattering my teeth at every stoplight on my way to work. No schedule could be busy enough to distract me from the bleak white outside the forced-air heat of the office where I work. When I wrap myself in scarves and make my way home for the evening, you are cruel enough to shroud the sky with clouds. I am restless when I return, and wool sweaters are never enough to keep the winter air from reaching my bones and drying my skin and as I cling to a blanket, nursing a cup of tea. But this year, you let me peek out from under your cloak of cold depression and I discovered my own warmth outside the weather. Perhaps it was my old friend and new roommate, Alex, who kept me from setting myself into patterns of inactivity - simply with his presence. I sometimes hear him creaking the floorboards of the upstairs where he sleeps; a reminder hanging over my head indeed. Maybe new windows or a better heated house have insulated me from your torments, or a confidence in my career that has me far from being overwhelmed. I place my own appreciation in my new love. A woman who is so much more to me than a kiss and kind words, or a warm body sleeping beside me. Her tiny smiles and the way she holds her cats keep me eyes-closed and smiling as your wicked wind burns my face. Her songs are a part of my soundtrack, and I am dreaming of our summer together under warmer days than you would ever yield. I am complacent and lost in her eyes, while you are attempting to break her spell. Fruitless, February! This strength far outweighs the icicles on my awning, or the heavy snow you piled in my driveway. With every shovelful I am defying you. I feel a cozy company in the world I have drawn around me, with your dreary days as my unexpected ink. You are still not my favorite month, and I read far less books under your Sunday skies than I intended, but you are almost behind me. Good riddance! But thank you all the same, for growing me one more month.