A Summer Girl in February

I am getting sadder and more lethargic by the day. Where did my joy go? My energy? My creativity?

Concentrating hard on the causes of the happiness that has eluded me for months, a vivid memory is triggered from the deep recesses of my brain. It fleshes out, grows, become alive in my senses.

Italy. Provence. Mediterranean food. Sunshine. Terra cotta pots, new or chipped, with flowers or herbs, scraggly or pristine, it doesn't matter. Sun-flecked water. Fountains. Sun dresses. Swimming pools. Sun-warmed shoulders. Gardens of all varieties. Lawn games. 

Provence blue. Italian red and green. Pale yellow. Venetian boats and masks. French cheese caves. Fois gras. Pleasant wine. Bread! Oh the bread!

Dawning on me slowly is the fact that I am a summer girl. I was born a summer girl. I will die a summer girl.

Summer girls suffer in February. We tolerate the holiday months of winter and even the restfulness of January. But February is a killer. It should be warm. The bulbs are shooting up. Trees are budding. Heather is blooming. Nature is waking up. But it's cold. It's too cold. It's still too dark too long. 

Then, I remember other Februarys and the Marches and Aprils that quickly follow. Weeds suddenly pop up, taking over the landscape. I remember the pressure to keep up in the garden, to not let it get the upper hand. I remember how demanding it all is and how much time it takes. This is what happens after February.

But it is worth it because May and June are not far behind. Sweet June. How I love Sweet June, the month of gentle warmth and enticement. I want to ride my bike, to walk, to play, to enjoy the yard that my husband and I have tamed during springtime.

So, I wait. I use the remaining cold and dark months to write, to plan, to think, to rest. I enter the soggy gardens to soak in whatever sun God blesses us with. And I shoo the negative and pitiful thoughts away.

Shoo!

I drink water. I weed my soggy terra cotta pots. I talk to my gardens, encouraging and praising their progress and hopefulness. I eat well. I walk. I read. I rest some more. 

All in preparation for the joy that is to come.

"When shall we live if not now." ~~ M.F.K Fisher