I find myself looking forward to the days more and more. I think of one morning melting into early afternoon, and it fills me with joy. The expectant Spring weather is chilled and windy, and I delight in the cold snap, the whipping against my bare arms, winds picking up, then dying down, then picking up again, as the season struggles with itself over and over.
I find I appreciate the little things more and more. The raucous calling of a crow, the scrambling fury of a red squirrel, the ungainly dance of dead leaves as they scatter across the gravel driveway. I see great promise in this year. A gentle, smiling, bubbling feeling of respect wafts over me as I hunch my body tighter against the frigid air. I am severely underdressed for this time of year, and probably made an unwise choice dressing myself the way I did.
But the thought occurs to me that I don't care. I am alive.