The muffled voices of the TV, talking importantly to itself, float though the wall. My chin rests heavily on my bent wrist, as I absently gaze out the back window. Fat white snowflakes are flying helter skelter on the cold wind, up and down in my gray, barren yard- mocking the near spring-like day we had yesterday, and the hope it contained.
For a while, the warm-ish ground was fighting back, melting the flakes as they landed, but now, the snow is winning, a veil of white descending on the yard.
I need green the way I need water or air. Yesterday, hope sprang, as all the Christmas snow finally melted and the faint tinges of green could be seen looking over the fields. Now, they are white again. When I lived in California, February meant spring, and by March, I had a tan. This is the time of year I struggle with most living in the Northwest. While mostly I love the seasons, March still being winter is really hard to take.
So, I’m off to make some stuff. I don’t know exactly what, but I need to do something to pep myself up. My floors need mopping and the laundry needs doing, but that will still be there, much like winter, tomorrow. Today, I create.