Oh February how we love to hate you. The shortest month of the year is witness to the shortest tempers of the year as we struggle to lift just one more shovelful of snow. Our spirits drop with the thermometer as the wind chill cuts through our heavy layers of winter wool.
And yet there is a promise in February that the end is nigh. Last weekend I saw ducks in the creek and Canadian geese flew over my back yard. My heart lifted to hear their cries because I couldn't help think that maybe the geese know something about the turning of the season.
And as my winter world is adrift in snow, I find my knitting universe adrift in projects and color. A tonic for my winter-weary soul, yet I am weighted down by a longing for yet more things to create. A blessing to have ideas and yarn to carry them out, yet cursed with finite time and energy to fulfill my dreams.