February

Yesterday the birds thought it was spring.
They sat on trees and sang rejoicing songs.
But I was much more practical than they were.
I thought to myself. This is Febraury, after all.
People flooded into the streets wearing their summer clothes.
Bought their whole new spring wardrobe at H&M.
Restaurants named their specials "Sunny spring wrap".
A glimpse of a world without snow warmed their 5 months cold hearts.

But I sat inside and waited.
My goose down coat, scarf and hat perched by the door.
Curmudgeon faced I sat, sipped warm coffee, and waited to be right.

At 5:45 the wind came.
First a dull whistling through the corners of my windows.
I looked out to see summer skirts blowing up on the girls outside the beer store.
A grin spreading across my face smooth like warm butter.
I put on my coat, my hat, my scarf and stepped out into the world.
The only one prepared.
Yes.
The only one prepared.

I relish in the practical control I have over my life.
My socks matching in thread count and colour and my hair ironed pin straight.
I don’t need God, I’ll tell you
I’ve got everything under control, dont ya know?

Today I woke up and there were no birds.
The trees we’re skeletal with long arms that reached in all directions for signs of life.
the people swathed their bodies in furs and synthetics to hold onto their warmth.
So indeed I was right after all.
February was still upon us. Heavy like my eyelids.

Once upon a time I believed in magic.
Once I believed in faith.
In hope.
I would twist the stem off my apple and recite letters of the alphabet until it came off. Believing that the letter I ended on was the first initial of the man I would marry.
I would play princess, and my bedroom would turn into a tall tower with exposed brick and forget-me-not's growing throughout.
At night I would talk to God asking for buttermilk pancakes and new beads to make necklaces with.
Sometimes, nowadays, I accidentally let a little piece of that girl slip out.
In conversation, at tea houses, or in parks when the day is especially glorious.
But I quickly grab and put her back where she belongs.

I cherish practicality for fear with without it I might just turn to dust and blow away.
I cherish it even as it swallows me.
Somewhere along the lines. February swallowed me.
But you’ll kiss me and wake me up.
Wont you?