It does my heart good to hear the rain.
A comfort after what seemed to be a long aching spell of frozen time.
The silk sky is letting down its torrents, and it knows that spring isn’t far ahead.
Spring, with its moist mist and colors, with its first swift heat and fragrant breath, rising from rocks and humus, from empty husks of last year’s leaves, long before the first of flowers freshen the air.
The seemingly lifeless trees of February feel its rumbling as sweet sap, rising from roots to be free from frosty mornings; to drip, passionless and painless from winter-wounded twigs.
Sweet icicles still forming from broken buds in their earnest anticipation of the warmer weather not yet here… but soon to be…
Here, to entice the leaves from their finite folds and free the patient flowers from their isolation.
Having Hope and Faith is oddly in keeping with the Heart of February.