This is my second attempt to write this post on my blog. Blogger, the platform I use, totally crapped out on me earlier. At the moment I am extremely frustrated, because all of the words are gone, out in the ether somewhere. Perhaps the gods will take pity and let someone else grasp them in the ethereal mists of the universe and make of them more truth, more beauty than I could imbue. In the meantime, the cats have awakened and Roger is back in from his outdoor labors and my moment of reflection and solitude has been ripped away like a partially formed scab that got caught on the adhesive of a bandage.
I shall attempt to recreate, if not the words the emotion of what I was trying to share earlier.
February has always been a difficult month for me, for as long as I can remember. I know there are good things about February this also ran of days on the Julian calendar. There are holidays, commemorations, celebrations, birthdays (I love you Johnna!), and anniversaries (how many years now, Steve and Kathy?)
The big final push into a new year is over, we have once again survived the darkest of days and daylight hours are now reaching to six in the evening and beyond. Life seems to be expelling a long drawn out breath, and February is the final wisps of air escaping. At the same time, nature is gathering her forces and preparing a new explosion of life.
Perhaps I suffer from SAD. Perhaps I have cabin fever. Perhaps the healing of my spirit and soul that has been such a long process over the past years has reached a point that requires a more real interaction with life. I find myself wanting to be out in life, not watching it through my window on the world. I yearn for warm breezes, dirt from planting herbs, flowers and vegetables on my hands, the smell of rich loamy soil, and the sheen of sweat on my face.
The inside cats are spending more time at the living room window these days, keeping their vigil as the birds are more frequently visiting the grape arbor and the porch eaves. Every once in a while I hear a “meep” and a paw swipes in a high pitched squeak at the window pane.
We had rain, lots of rain, and wind over the past days and Roger has been outside surveying damage and picking up twigs and branches. He saw a salamander down by the creek and has already been seeing mosquitoes.
So much about life seems to be uncertain in 2013. Socially, ecologically, politically, financially. I know each era feels these pangs. One need only read history to see the same concerns in decades and centuries gone by. Each generation faces their own crucible. The current ones have not been and shall not be spared. For us the concerns feel more imperative because we are the ones riding the turmoil. There is a vast difference in watching someone make bread or reading how to make bread and getting your own hands into that gooey sticky mess.
I am ready to get my hands into the gooey sticky uncertainty of life again.
I leave you with a picture of a cat sitting at the window, looking out.