A few weeks ago I sat in front of my Christmas tree in the late afternoon hours and talked to my brother on the phone. He’s in cold Illinois. I’m in not quite as cold Tennessee. I missed him. Another holiday apart. Another day not seeing each others’ kids grow and experience joy.
Christmas has been packed up.
Now it’s just cold.
Blinds are at half-mast, or up. We choose heat over light. I don’t like that choice.
In the gray early hours my husband walked over the crest of this foothill where we live. So cold, the dogs stayed behind–no walk was worth it. The road was slick and dangerous and he came back inside and came back to bed and I curled into his back. I was praying he wouldn’t attempt the drive.
We slept in.
In hunkering down, trying to not feel as though I am weighted, being pressed down, but rather just still and waiting and growing and ready for warmer days.
My friend has primroses that will be up in a matter of weeks. Oh, how I love her primroses! I’ve told her such, but she doesn’t understand completely how much I love moving up her front walk and seeing those gorgeous little blooms and how hopeful they make me. Every year.
If I had primroses they’d die, no doubt.