It is always this time of year, just after the holidays, where I feel the first little longing for Spring. I know I'm way early on this, but it happens just the same. My fingers itch to dig in the soil, my lungs dream of breathing deeply of the warm, fresh air.
So when I wake up to more of this...
...I really have to sit myself down and have a long talk about not wishing away what is. So today I will cherish the whiteness, the cooling calm of what is outside my door.
I will layer on yet another sweater to ward off the drafts in this old farmhouse, and I will find comfort and nourishment in what's around.
I will imagine myself in July, in the middle of the heat and humidity and mosquitos, where I will be dreaming of an icy wind to blow down on me.
I will close my eyes and say a prayer of gratitude for my roof and four walls and all that their contents represent in my world.
I will fix myself a cup of hot tea and start making plans for my summer's garden.
I will take a deep breath and a long look around me, at what's here now. I will drink it all in and 'be glad of life'.
And when the chilly air tempts me to turn cold and cranky, I'll remind myself of these old familiar words...
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