February, Knows a Strange, Strange Dance

February is tumbling out, full speed and abundant with delights that only February holds.

We come from the chicken house, proclaiming,“ Eggs!” to one another, as the chickens once again begin to lay their oval treasures.

If there were no pages to turn upon the calendar nailed to the wall, I would still know that it was February. It would be boldly evident by the number of skunks, white and black, that lay along the roadways, where they get caught on mating journeys.

And now and again I catch the sight of one wobbling back and forth, hither and yonder in an ambling stroll, (is he drunk on love?), across the stubble of last summers cornfield. One never thinks of skunks until February, when suddenly they come out of hiding.

February is very moody. She will charm us with days that seem like April and then she will clam up and turn a cold shoulder, sending shivers up our spines.

Sometimes I go outside on mornings, after cold turns, to witness flowers that had dared to bloom as February smiled the day before. These brave blossoms get caught in one of the ‘fickle month’s’ crying jags, and they become encased. Enclosed within a cloak of solid ice. It is the strangest thing.

But the whole while the Robin sings and it is his determination, I believe, that turns it all, finally, one day into spring.

I turned my car to the south and drove an hour today, went to see a friend. How I love to travel this way, farther from the big cites and deeper into the hills. Those hills I love as I pass through, cherishing every rise and fall, caressing with my eyes and encompassing with my heart, the little natural streams that spill from the ever-deepening valleys.

These hills, in patchworks, are taking on the subtle, not noticeable to anyone who would not see, hue of budding maples. Dark maroon upon a deep blue sky, this combination will always say February to me.

And while I was there, an hour south, I got a preview. Spring always comes there first, and I spied a plot of pansies blooming purple in the sun.

Before this sun sat, I turned my car around, pretending that it was my pony, rode it back home through the hills again. Up and down and over and through and blessing them all the while, I felt as though that is why I am here, to bless the hills with love. And if that is all that I am here for, it will be enough.

It reached nigh 60 degrees today. My friend and I kept rejoicing the beautiful weather and everyone would say, (they had listened to the weather,) “Just wait, it will be 10 degrees, with strong winds this weekend,”
Ah! February, doing her thing, decorating buds in ice, again.