Wherefore art thou, Spring?

Although February has only 28 days (and some years, 29),

The month feels twice as long

Thanks to dreary, cold days

Sometimes punctuated with ice and snow.

The fourteenth of the month is a lover’s holiday

But for those not in love, it is a lonely day.

And on the second day, Punxsutawney Phil,

That prognosticator of spring,

Had the nerve to see his shadow once again,

Cursing us with six more weeks of winter.

But my soul longs for Spring,

For warm sunshine on my upturned face,

Bright green grass springing up from the cold, hard ground,

And tulips and daffodils waving brightly in the gentle breeze.

My heart longs for blue skies instead of gray,

With puffy white clouds breaking up the blue.

Leaf buds on barren branches,

Signal the promise of leaves yet to come.

Birds trill their joyful songs

And build their nests in the tall tree tops.

My body longs for warmer temperatures,

So I can put away my winter coat

And wear a light jacket, or if it’s warm enough,

No jacket at all,

So I can enjoy the breeze.

Spring brings new hope and new life

From the cold and barren winter.

O calendar!  Make short work of these last few weeks of winter

And bring me my heart’s desire of Spring!