Today, this jarringly balmy February Thursday, marks one month until we find out where we’re moving, where we’re starting again, where we’re spending the next three years, or maybe longer.
Dave’s brother, Michael, who happens to be a meteorologist, tells us that these mid-winter spells come and go, every year almost. Enough time has passed that people don’t seem to remember, are again and again shocked, when the warmth finally and suddenly and dramatically materializes, sandwiched between 20-degree cold fronts and snow drifts. But their surprise is just symptomatic of a collective short term memory, since the mid-winter thaw is actually a common phenomenon, on a yearly basis anyway, rooted in science and math and proven by models galore, he says. Not that strange, after all.
Call it a weather pattern, call it a historical surety, call it what you will. To me, though, it feels like Spring.
This winter has been so very long, filled with scares and joys but most of all, with waiting. At some points, it’s felt like it would never end, and I know it still hasn’t yet. But tonight, jacket unzipped and feet half-bare in flats, I convinced myself that March, and our future, are right around the corner. And right now, that’s enough.
