I don’t know what it is about February; perhaps I’ve had enough of winter. Cabin fever? I want to go! Go! Go! Go! But I feel as though there is something holding me back. If I could identify what that something was I’d shake it off and be gone, but it remains elusive; just beyond my conscious efforts to identify it.
It’s a time of year where I’m feeling a certain ennui . Discontent. Languor. Worldweariness.
Friends pop off to southern climes for all-inclusive luxury vacations – am I jealous? Not really. The kind of beaches I like are the deserted fall and winter beaches devoid of sun-worshipers and noise. I prefer to be alone with the sea birds and the surf.
Gardening catalogs have started arriving – Every year I promise myself that this is the year that I’ll start that garden, but I never do. My thumb is not as green as my soul.
New spring clothes have begun arriving in the shops, but we are months away from sleeveless blouse and capris weather; now is the time of wet boots and mud.
Deer tracks are everywhere and the coyote tracks are never far either. The great horned owls can be heard in the woods.
And I am waiting for some kind of a start signal.