What to say about February? Each year, it’s astounding to me how long the shortest month can feel. 28 days and the overcast greys seem to hang closer to the windows. Every part of me is ready for spring, greens and flower buds, and the first rays of sunshine you can feel.
Maybe it’s because I was a spring baby, but as the world blooms, it buoys me into higher spirits. These lagging days of winter never fail to cast shadows in my mind, as if I’m holding my breath.
I’ll be honest, I don’t have much to write about this month. But as I’ve been staring at this blank document, the word liniment came to mind. Which, to me, is close to ligament, which is close to lament. These words have very little in common, but then again, maybe they do:
– Liniment; a liquid with oil meant to relieve pain.
– Ligament; something that unites people or things, a bond.
– Lament; a passionate expression of grief or sorrow.
Maybe spring is like liniment for the world, breaking out of the entombment of winter, a balm to the skies and rivers, to the ligaments all around us. The seasons are woven into one another, so there is always a certain measure of grief at the end of one and the beginning of another. As we embrace a new reality and different patterns, we must allow ourselves to enjoy what was, what remains, and what is still to be. Freedom in the longer days and kind horizons while acknowledging how we got to them. That’s a lot like life, too.
I drove for the first time in almost three years the other day. Anyone who knows me even a little knows I’m not a confident driver. But I did it and will do it again tomorrow, alone for the first time. And then again after that. Fear is no longer enough to keep me from overcoming this long-dragging hindrance.
So, with spring comes change—as always—and with the sun kissing the earth again, I have hopes for a gentler season and new freedoms.
Thank you for reading.