Finally got outside to shovel snow last night just after dark, and did a damn fine job of it. Woke up slowly this morning, gradually becoming aware of stiff and tired muscles. Made coffee and looked out the window expecting to see sidewalks and driveway scraped clean.
Nothing but white. A couple inches of white.
February.
Hard, plodding work brightened only by a couple of silly Valentines with their gaudy colors and fake cheer. (Okay, if you're a fan of Valentines--brightened by a few sweet cards, pink and heartfelt in an otherwise grey month.)
I have never been a fan of life's long grey stretches. They're like the sidewalk along the north side of my house that stretches from the driveway and the alley all the way to the street corner. There's a point when you're shoveling that sidewalk where you stop and lean on your shovel and despair of ever finishing.
But you gotta keep going.
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