Only eight days of February left and I couldn't be happier about it. The sentiment barreled me into musings about why the hardest month of the year (at least in the northern climes) has the least number of days.
An investigation revealed that in fact the brevity of this month has nothing to do with weather sorrows (because, of course, it's not this frickin cold everywhere!) but instead with Roman emperors' egos.
Whatever the reason I welcome the close of this frigid 28 days with much rejoicing and await Oestara with not enough patience. Long twilight, warm earth, budding trees all become the stuff of dreams at this point in the year - seeming impossible beneath the shield of ice and snow. March arrives to ease the burden of belief.