“Spring, summer, and fall, fill us with hope; winter alone reminds us of the human condition” — Mignon McLaughlin
Ah, February.
February is my little black cat, draped across my chest like a furry scarf. He is like a weighted blanket, holding me down, keeping me swaddled up tight.
February.
February is gravitating to the sunny windows in the house and trying to call up the feeling of the unrelenting heat and humidity of our summers.
February.
February is my UV lamp, propped here next to my laptop, and fantasies of a tropical beach somewhere.
February is rolling over in the morning, after a deep sleep, for just a few more precious minutes.
February is wondering what the hell to write about.
These days, the grey sky outside my window casts a thin light on my bed, but, like my spirits, it is weak and insubstantial.
I think in life we have this balance of levity and gravity. Darkness resting and sunshine rising. We can’t spend too much time in either arena, it is always a balancing effort.
It is the lesson of the seasons.
And in February, I need to believe in something bright and cheerful.
In February, I need to dream.
And so I dream of chickens. And on cold February nights, I lie awake and think of them.
My backyard chickens provide a silly kind of optimism to me. They are a daft distraction on a boring day. They can make me laugh, they can make me wonder.
And they keep their promises – to deliver a perfect egg – every single day, without complaint.
They follow the seasonal tug, molting and laying and just pecking about the yard – all in concert with the year.
And the care and keeping of them is an unexpected joy for me.
In my dreams, I am a sturdy Cornish countrywoman on a big farm, with acres of space for my hens. I sling chickenfeed from a huge gingham apron and I gather up the most perfect eggs.
So, the days are getting longer now, and here the temperatures are occasionally in the 60s. There’s this weird kind of double take we do – is it winter, or is it spring? Whatever – we’ll take the sunshine when we can get it.
But I still wonder if I am missing out on some true winter wisdom, as described by McLaughlin, above – the reckoning with the human condition, with all of the sadnesses and angst (you know, the things Minnesotans feel).
But, as it is February, I will put off these thoughts for another day (maybe July!) and simply keep looking for that earlier sunrise that is arriving every morning.
It’s the human condition.
It’s me in February.
And you?
What do you dream about in February?
Do you have dreams for the year?
honeybees & reveries 