The Thaw.

Stepping outside into the afternoon sun, I literally feel the earth spinning toward spring.

The heavy winds prove that Mother Earth is as anxious as I am for an end to this dark, dreary season. She’s not losing any time hurtling us back into long days and balmy evenings, flirty skirts and exposed toes, impromptu picnics and freckled skin. My soul could use a heavy dose of sunshine and riding with the windows down.

A part of me worries that I will be never be able to adjust to the colder, wetter climate of my future dream city. But mostly I’m just ready to live in a place I’m not constantly trying to escape, which hasn’t happened since I drove west, away from my low city on the sparkling water.

In other news, I love February. The compactness of it all. Festivals and carnivals; bright purples and greens and pinks and reds which replace the gloomy bareness of January; long weekends with good friends and hot chili; oyster roasts and cold beer and cheering for big games. All of this crammed into the shortest, sweetest month, which this year has been granted a generous 29 days to allow time to complete our annual leap around the sun.

*scampers off to enjoy her well-earned weekend*