We are living on the very edge of springtime, just two months into a new year. A 56 degree day (in February, in New Jersey) feels, at once, startling and hopeful. Last night, I got home just before six o'clock and realized, it's still light outside.
It won't be long -- the magnolias and dogwoods will bloom, the clocks will shift and winter will fade. This year, this season, is shaping itself to be one of disappointment and joy existing in a delicate balance.
I spend hours in my head and in my journal, thinking about seasons, thinking about what the past few months have been, thinking about what the next few will be -- trying all the while to quiet the expectations and daydreams and fears that spin 'round.
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