(Precursor: I've been thinking about doing the occasional style post with vaguely creative nonfiction/essay-ish writing. I'm going to try it out, see what happens. If you have some thoughts, let me know what you think!)
Oh, the winter was long. So, so, so very long.
I couldn't wait to see the sunshine. I wanted to feel the warm air and smell the rain's sweetness. I wanted my eyes to be filled with the bright, verdant boldness of the grass, poking its fresh spiky heads out of the ground, like toddlers. Just a moment ago, they couldn't have been more asleep, but now they are awake in every fiber of their tiny beings.
I don't remember winter bothering me so greatly in past years. Even last year, I was willing to bundle up in layer after layer of scarves and mittens against the 30 minute walk home in the cold, cold night after a late rehearsal. A March snow would not have made me skip with glee, but I remember the idea being less of a terrible imposition and more of just a part of living in the midwest. They put chili on spaghetti and make tater tots into casserole; why not have snow in March? But this year I wanted to see spring so badly I could almost taste the fragrance of budding flowers in the air.
I have discovered that it is not easy to accept the changes of seasons slowly. They come when they will, and there's not really anything that I can do to force the revolution of the earth to happen faster. If only.