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White Sky

My best friend from high school once described Hell as a calendar full of February’s; terrifying.  Up ahead, I see the full month of February blocking my way to springtime.  It’s ominous and dark up there and after surviving the chaos of November and December and the treacherous gray days of January, I’m not sure I even want to approach it.  There’s no way around it so, here I go…

I have a head cold and I’ve been in denial about it all week.  But today, it’s Saturday, and I am giving in to the luxury of  a loose schedule to really settle in to my misery.  The day matches the way I feel, cold and gray.  I look up from my lap full of Kleenex at the sound of angry black birds cawing from the snow-covered lawn.  I look up at the gloomy gray sky and realize, it’s not gray at all; it’s white.  It’s the same white as the snow on the ground, a mirror image separated by the golden stubble of corn stalks along the horizon.  In fact, it’s sort of beautiful.

Ok, I can do this.  All I have to do is find something beautiful to focus on each day and before long the red-winged blackbirds will be shrieking in the field grass and the robins will be pulling up worms.  In a few months, the poke week and fiddleheads will begin sending up shoots then I’ll find my asparagus, I hope.  Finding beauty in the gloom, it gives me hope, and hope will get me through.

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