The sun is shining today, though it is diffused by clouds that make the sky appear to be gray and white, as if suddenly we were living in a black and white movie. Or at least such is the case at this moment as I view the world outside through the picture window of my living room.
From here, wrapped up in an afghan to ward off the perpetual chill that afflicts this room of the house, I can almost delude myself into thinking that spring has arrived. Squirrels scamper about in the yard, song birds twitter, their happy tunes reaching me despite the absence of an open window, and daffodils have sprouted in a long neglected planter.
And yet, I know it is not spring. It is still winter. This thought saddens me, although the sun is brighter now. The warm white light makes me long for prisms to hang in the window so that rainbows can dance all over the room and tease my dog. And once again clouds obscure the sun, washing out the landscape.
Time has slipped away from me, and I must leave for work. The view from the window has already changed, as a patch of blue appears above the tree line. But my melancholy lingers, as it does every January. I wonder how long it will last.
