I’ve heard that astrologically, this past February will prove an easily forgotten month. February is like that anyway: tucked in, deceptively short, unpredictable in its weather. When I lived in Santa Fe, February was the month the sun would get warm again, and we’d sit outside for an hour or two in the mid-morning, stripping off sweaters and bathing in the warmth that left in November. But here in New England, we are all yellow in February. There is no sun. No light. I fill my shopping cart with unripe cantaloupes and bruised papayas and bunches and bunches of parsley because I need something living. Continue reading
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