a letter to dear girl

It is Valentine’s Day here there and everywhere. Last week, in a fit of passion, I clipped heart shapes from old magazines, using bits of paper that were pink, red, and any variation thereof. I strung them together on lengths of ribbon and hung them in our windows. The winter’s light casts looming heart-shaped shadows on opposite walls, on the striped sunlit floors, and over the backs of studying students. Hearts everywhere.

I went for walk today despite the whipping wind. The sun brought me out against my better judgement, and I made it to the top of the hill before I turned around with a vengeance. I stomped and huffed and gasped through the slicing cold all the way home to where the wood stove wafted warmth. I peeled off a hat, a scarf, mittens and my coat before blowing my nose and heaving loud sorry-sounding sighs. I am ready for winter to be over, ready for songbirds to lace our scrawny orchard with flutterings and chirpings. Ready for the boughs to hang heavy with flowering buds tipped with red. Ready for the edges of lakes and ponds and rivers to splinter under the warmed air and ripple against all kinds of mud that oozes with relief from its icy coat.

Are you ready?

I think you are ready, too, my dear girl. For the frozen-time to be over and for the doors to unbolt and for the rugs to be thrown from the windows and shaken from both ends. When spring comes, really truly comes to stay, she will not tolerate stuffy air and dust under the bed and moldy towels and canned vegetables. She demands newness in everything; fresh air and fresh laundry and fresh green things sprouting and fresh gulps of air that have been loosed from snowbanks grown tired from their frozen stiffness.

It is only the middle of February. Maybe too soon for spring-thoughts. But spring-thoughts come to me when I pray for you.