On Boxing Day, as my husband and his lovely boys have Christmas without me at my in-laws, I’ve had to turn all the radiators off to stop my chocolate and paint smattered oversized tee, stretched out nightie from sticking to my 200+ lb body.  I even had to open the windows.  At least one of them, wide.  It is 9 degrees Celsius outside.

Spring calls to me through winter.  “I’m here my darling.  The days have started getting longer.  I’m coming for you.  Come to meet me.  Come to meet me.  It will be dark for a long while yet.  And cold.  But you can start the long walk to meet me.  Shed your layers of winter blubber.  Hibernate a bit less and less each day.  Turn your weakness to strength and your lethargy to fleetness and, when we meet, we will rise together on the fragrant breeze of newfound hope and glide into the certainty of summer.  Come to me, though you won’t see or scent me for weeks hence.  Come to me with the faith that I will meet you, as I have always done.”

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