I can't figure out how to add the proper accent to that first e above, but I honestly want to mark every letter of this month with enthusiasm. February is nearly passed! February, dark and short-long, wet and sloppy, when neither blade of grass nor beast of earth venture forth to test the air, is almost behind us.
Under every clod of snow there is a heart-shaped patch of refuse. February.
And this year I actually enjoyed it.
But I think that's mostly due to the flowers -- the lead-up to Vday and the slow happy come-down.
In other years I've felt more like the protagonist in Shane Jones' novel Light Boxes, for whom February is an unending month, a veiled monster, and a real freaking downer. If you're feeling shut-in, like the world doesn't understand your malaise, or if you just want some rich dark fairy-tale language to slide down your frozen throat, please pick up Shane's book. (Watch the trailer ((book trailers are such an interesting phenomenon)) here.)
Au revoir, Fevrier!
"I don’t want to die, said February. This is what is going to happen, said the girl who smelled of honey and smoke. She walked over to February and whispered something in his ear. I hope that works, said February. I really do." - from Light Boxes
