So, as I’d grabbed my Norton Anthology of Poetry for the trip, I ate M&M’s and I read poetry out loud to pass the hours.
I saw a hawk this morning using the wind to coast, to flow, to float, to rise above some rocks.
Relief can present herself in a myriad of forms, realizing there is just enough toilet paper, learning a tumor is benign, waking up and realizing it’s Saturday.
There are wonderful things about March: Saint Patrick’s Day, Daylight Savings, Easter on occasion, the melting of snow.
I muse joyfully on wearing a mother’s clothes; I know my own mother’s wardrobe consisted of a lot of polyester pants and orthotic shoes.
Today I muse joyfully on the half price Valentine candy sales that are sure to take place Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday of this week.
And today, dear musers, are ways you too might enjoy mid-winter pick me ups that carry you through ice storms, Covid, winter blahs.
Today I muse joyfully on some of the heartiest New Englanders who I witnessed at a Portsmouth snowball fight, an unofficial event after Saturday’s blizzard that brought young and old out to fling some snowballs, laugh under a blue sky on Market Square.
January and February can be long, cold, desperate months.
I muse joyfully on this frigid, frigid January day, on the ice so deep I can skate, on my flannel sheets, on blankets around the house, on the mittens and hats strewn around so the outside is cozy, is doable, is January.