Funny things happen. I’m getting my pedicure, sitting in my chair, relaxing and watching the diminutive man paint my toes ever so expertly and carefully…so, so carefully. Precision and artistry. Suddenly!…Furiously! In bursts a woman…bells on the door jangling with abandon.

Cacophony! She’s tall and frantic and says way too loudly…’I got here as fast as I could!’

She looks directly at me but I see only a harried face, large sunglasses…a half donned medical mask.

So. I look away and pretend I am somewhere else.

Needless to say, the precise artist is now re-painting…ever so carefully…so, so carefully…my toes.

We were both taken aback. It was jarring. But of course neither of us will ever admit it…

In the gloaming eve, as the heavy greying blue clouds hint at more snow to come…somewhere, sometime…the spirit most usually withdraws, sighing gently as a close to the day.

The shutting of the door, folding into companionship, warm food and the body wrapped in flannel, absorbed in prayer and thought…the inner life unfolds with twilight…

Welcome February…shortest month, rich with reds and pinks, rose petals and white lace…strawberry dipped chocolates…cinnamon tea in creamy white ceramic mugs. There are the frosted midnight wine glasses in overly heated restaurants and the underflow of murmured chatter. We glance out through frozen glass panes…knowing, feeling that despite the predictable bitter March gusts waiting ahead…February is the border between winter and spring; the winter’s farewell tip of the hat, the ice-winking…and the grand Cupid exit…

Slipping gently on ice, stepping gingerly into the month of pinks and creams…scarlets and shades of ruby gold…etched in dashes of deepest black…

Ground Hog Day…and what of it, really? I mean, really!

Old Man Winter, Lady Snow, Lord Wind and Sister Lake Effect toyed with us and found us wanting. They headed in a westerly direction, out to the political scene in Iowa, making mischief and searching for exciting precipitation. They sat down together in the middle of the great plains to enjoy high tea.

They celebrated well. ‘Pass the frost, please’ and ‘How delicious; layered permafrost with a gropple topping’.

I am bored and so is Phil, our regional rodent of renown. No snow, no shadow, no sun. Six weeks is the verdict.

Heading north today…toward the city, toward the lake, toward spring…

I am giving official notice to winter and all the dull, iced vagaries.

Whatever the sun, moon, stars and thermometer wish to do is…and I quote the Germans, ‘Mir Egal’.

I am done with January and have traded in the grey and blah for my pink, red and white coffee mugs…and red candles…and pink roses…and chocolates.

Living well in the softening center between winter and spring…