Ah, well, here we are again, another dreary morning, and it’s still barely light at 8 o’clock. You’d think by now the sun would have figured out how to rise a bit earlier, but no, it takes its sweet time. These winters—they’re long, too long. The cold gets into your bones, makes you wonder if spring’s forgotten all about us. But then again, I noticed it today—just a bit of light, creeping in sooner than yesterday. Not much, mind you, but enough to remind me.
You see, every year it happens, and every year I act surprised, as if I’ve forgotten the pattern of it all. The days start getting longer. Little by little, the dark loses its grip. A fool’s hope, maybe, but still, I feel it.
Can’t say I’m not a bit pleased by it, though I’d never admit that out loud. Spring’s on its way, I suppose. I can almost hear the birds thinking about returning. And me? Well, I’ve lived through enough winters to know better than to get my hopes too high. But, by God, there’s still something about the thought of another spring… Yes, maybe I’ll live to see it again, and maybe, just maybe, it’ll be a good one.
The flowers, the trees, the warmth—oh, I’ll grumble when it’s too hot, of course, but for now, I’ll take that light. Just a little more each day. It’s enough to keep an old man going. 😉