Monday, January 24, 2011
It is a dreary day of mixed rain and snow, of peevish low clouds obscuring the mountains, and wet, cold, slushy streets. A restless day, when the things which usually keep my mind and body busy seem dull and drab, as if they've united themselves with the weather to put a blight on the day. Days like this are rare for me, but this time of year they arrive more predictably, as the end of winter nears and I grow impatient for spring. To drive away the restlessness I try to imagine what spring will be like, to think of the budding trees, the fresh spring rains, the feel of new grass under my bare feet. It will come soon enough. Meanwhile, there is writing to do, query letters to send, laundry to fold. Today it all seems rather pointless. I know that will all change -- if not tomorrow the next day. The clouds will disperse, the sun will come out, and the mundane daily tasks will reclaim their magic, until even laundry folding regains a sort of simple charm. Meanwhile, I shall make myself a cup of tea and dream about the spring, and my dreams will make the laundry and query-writing less tedious.