It feels like a hunger that cannot be satisfied.
February, the shortest of months - and that’s good news,
But it trails with the not-so-good news that March is yet to come.
The days are longer which ought to be good,
And yet what that really means is that there is yet more time to fill.
Sleeping is my best alternative,
The escape that for a few hours, relieves all.
Trying to keep on keeping on,
Knowing that I have been here before.
I have known February, and February has known me,
But we have not yet worked out a peaceful coexistence.
Spring will come, light and lightness will return.
It’s nothing personal February, you always just seem to come by at the wrong time.
I look for April, for days to begin to clean up the yard, to sit in the sun,
To drink in and taste the miracle of life.