Grudgingly Grateful for the shortest–yet longest–month of the year

I’ve read lots of comments about February, had many discussions about February, expressed my disdain for February and now I shall express my gratitude for February.  Even though it is currently snowing and blowing outside my window, I peeked out just now and saw the frosted tops of the Daffodils in the front yard.  It is not much, but it is something–a dream of bright color in the midst of dreary white and gray.  Only the promise now, but soon, real soon, a burst of sunshine in my yard that will warm me and sustain me and lead me to face one more February.

Because I grew up in sunshine, where February was just a short month and not the one that tries everyone’s tempers and trust. I didn’t know the role of this month played in germinating gratitude and, later, in the harvest of hope … until now, after living through ten and one-half of them and dreading almost every one. But I know it now, the value and purpose of this month that seemed to have none before, except, of course, to vex and overwhelm me.

And still … I’m glad its March.


About TinaLBPorter

I write poetry and blog at And I'm thrilled to be writing with you.
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