Don’t go February – you’ve brought so little joy so why leave at a snail’s pace? My street looks like one giant snot bucket of gray matter put there by the sleet God - Von Herbert of Hell Froze Over.
I have heard the musicians cry – where were the gigs, I was available. I’ve seen street faces all searching beneath the soles of their shoes for sympathy. Not even a frothy cup of stew beef will revive the dreary grip of winter’s chill.
The dogs have spent the month holed up in the bedroom closet like adopted zombies. The joy of unlocking the back porch door has faded. That slow drag around the back lawn, sudden spin and gift dump all but forgotten. Just a whiff of inclement weather brought dog sadness and extreme lethargy. I threw a ball and it rolled – they watched then went back to bed.
So today, I will wave out my office window at each passing cloud - curse the snow greased sidewalk, laugh out loud to hear laughter, and reassure myself I paid something on every bill. March on!
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