Today in my front yard in Montana.
“That’s it. I’ve had it,” I declared just yesterday when I, as my children say, ate crap in my icy driveway and fell with a bag of groceries, managing somehow to land partially under my truck.
We live in a valley where there’s 75 days of sun on average a year. I swear this summer we must have gobbled up all of them because it has been one thing this winter: grey.
It’s a lot like pregnancy– just when you think you can’t stand another day of nausea, the baby takes over its own hormone production and you feel instantly yourself again. (if you’re one of the lucky ones. Some people are green all nine months!) Just when you can’t handle how sluggish you feel, and how your life has been invaded by an alien you can’t see, feel, or touch…the baby does its first kick, and you say, Welcome. I am your mother. And all is well.
That’s how winter is here. Just when you are thinking of cashing it all in and moving to Florida…the sun comes out like Yoda and teaches you a little lesson about gratitude. And you stop. You have to. You want to drop to your knees and some of us do. You take your front porch chair into the yard and you sit and you smile and you say, “Thank you.”
