I’m participating in Write ALM’s Prompt-a-Day for the month of February. Feel free to join us!
Today’s prompt is
There isn’t much radiant in South Mississippi right now. There was a terrible fog on my drive up from the Coast this morning and throughout the day, the drizzle and mist has persisted. The temperature is about to drop and while we are in no danger of another Snowliday coming so close on the heels of our last one, it is depressing. This is the South. The place where I break out my heavy winter coat maybe once every two years or when it’s particularly cold around the bonfire and where I wear my flip flops defiantly year-round. This is NOT our weather.
But I feel it coming. Yesterday it was warm and sunny enough to do a little yard work in a short-sleeved shirt and capris. The ground, dormant and crispy from a season of neglect is starting to green, and before we know it, there will be long mornings spent hauling and moving, digging and turning, raking and leveling, standing back and admiring our handiwork.
Our next projects are already beginning to take shape in my mind. There are bulbs to be planted, ground to be tilled, seed to be sewn. My fingers almost itch to be in the soil. There will shortly be cheerful flowers stretching themselves towards the warmth of a distant sun, fragrant blooms covering the porch as the Japanese honeysuckle begins to bloom and the satsuma trees start another cycle.
And there will be afternoons spent joyously on the beach, music playing, drinks sweating on top of coolers. Delirious umbrellas will dot the sand, smiling happily at each other, free from the dark corners that have held them all winter long.
The return of the sun and its radiance, as painful as those first few weeks are on my sensitive skin, is coming. We are all a little antsy in anticipation. Impatient. Eager. Petulant.
When it is the heart of the cold, darkness of February, it is hard to imagine that we will ever be tired of the sun’s blessings. But in November when the chill begins, it’s almost as if we are ready for a season of night. The tools and toys are put up for the winter and while there is a pang, we aren’t entirely sad to see them go. We are tired of the bounty of the sun. And as the time stretches on, as we store up our energy and grow restless, we understand what we have missed…and are desperate for its return.