Orange Valentine (Thoughts on February)

While walking early one drizzly February morning with my doxie, I heard a very loud chorus of bird voices. Throughout a large, leafless oak in a farmhouse yard spread a congregation of robins.  Their cheery orange breasts shone in the muted sunlight filtering through showery clouds.  The presence of so many of these distinctive creatures was startling. Their chattering rose in waves that washed over Cosmo and I as we stood on the road. It was like a choir of gladness.

February is robin-like. Mid-month is technically mid-winter and at this precise point Valentines Day arrives.  This funny little pseudo-holiday is the bright orange breast of winter. For a brief moment in the very heart of the season’s stark colorlessness we are immersed in chocolate and flowers and bright red hearts.  We gorge on the color and taste and tenderness of love’s offerings. Somehow winter seems shortened and springtime hastened by the bold admonishment of this one day: Remember to show your love.

The ranks of robins thin by month’s end.  Perhaps they scatter and mingle among other birds throughout the year.  Or maybe they retreat to the hills and woodlands, far from man and his machinery.  Regardless, their unexpected appearance in midwinter gladdens the wet, chilly days of February and makes my heart want to sing along with them.

Do the people you love know it?

Thoughts on January

Vineyards of Sonoma Valley

Gone are the green leafy shades and sanctuaries of summer. Gone, too, are the leaves of brilliant fall vines flowing over the hills of our fair county.  Now, ghostly trees stand in blue dawn mists. In the gathering light of morning vineyards, pruned limbs are silhouetted against a pale sky.

This month strips and bares, revealing bones and sinew.  It is an honest month, without pretense, resting calm and confident between the pomp and celebration of Christmas and the bright sweetness of February’s love.

It is the month of my father’s birthday.  After Christmas when I was growing up, as January rolled around, he would at some point invariably exclaim, “Spring is on the way!” I believe he disliked what he considered the dreariness of winter months and there was something about the turn of the year that made spring seem within reach.

I wish I would have been there the morning of his death, his self-inflicted death, to put my arms around him and say those words he had uttered so often:  “Spring is on the way!”  The rain will cease, the darkness diminish, daylight will linger a bit longer with each passing day.  Don’t despair, don’t despair.  Spring is on the way.

Life is always at work, even in the dead of winter. Are you living in that awareness with hope and anticipation for the new year?