Wake Me Come Spring: An Unfunny Post
The Counting Crows* and Matt Costa were both right. It's been a long and cold December**. Even now, on the cusp of January fading, the ill effects of too much winter are standing strong.
There has been little rain, and somehow, despite a ring of white around us, there has been even less snow. There has been nothing but biting winds and bitter cold. The night air sinks to single digits and the mocking sun of mid-day barely breaks above 40. It is getting old.
The boys are home-bound, with boards of bored games. They are growing despite the never nourished requisite of bare feet in cool grass and the other offerings of endless summer days. They make their own sunshine and their laughter warms a house grown cold with waiting.
I do not fare as well. It is heavy upon me, the constant shutting of doors and stoking of fires. I too have shoes on my feet, and the numbness of their constraint spreads within me.
I am subject to these trappings that confine me. My job drains my spirit. It has broken me and brought me to heel. It takes more than I care to offer and throws me empty upon the icy sidewalk. It has beaten me.
Thus, I sit here sipping coffee, letting Ray Lamontagne soothe me while I wait for the laughter of two little boys to thaw me enough that I can muster a smile and make the most of what I must face- the standstill of another frozen day and the fresh bruises of another worknight that I am too tired to block.
*I found this Harry Potter video on YouTube.
**my poem that I am going to speak about next month at an Arizona high school