It Might As Well Be Spring

Last February, Rosie Thomas released a new album just in time for Valentines Day. If you weren't with me way back then, you can read the review I wrote about it here.I loaded the songs onto my iPhone and set off into one of the first sunny days of pre-spring to take a walk with Rosie.

The music was achingly beautiful, happier than much of her earlier work and tinged with the rosy (pun intended) glasses of nostalgia, and, I suspect, her recent marriage. Though it was sunny on the bluff near my house, where I often walk, it was also extremely cold. By the time I made it home, having listened to the entire record front to back, my ears were stinging, my head was throbbing and I could no longer feel my nose.

Throughout this year, I have thought about that day many times, and when I listen to Rosie's LP in the warm comfort of my bedroom, I can still feel that sharp wind, tempered by the beautiful deception of bright sunshine.

It is February again, and in many ways, it is February in my life. There is a bright light to create and intermingle with the shadows, change is in the air, but it is still a little muddy, pockets of snow linger on lawns and in ditches. It is still cold.

In spite of this, I walk through, wrapping my scarf around my head and breathing through it to make the air more bearable. I've been inside all winter, and though it's not quite over, I can't resist the promise of what is coming, even if it's not quite here yet.