Notes from February.

I can’t really remember what Februarys are usually like. But at this point, I can’t remember what normal life is like at all, anyway.

February feels like a non-descript, quick month, with nothing particular of note for my memory to grab hold of. I know there is Valentines Day and Pancake Day; the first of which I don’t usually mark, and the second of which springs up on me with no warning. Neither feel like significant enough markers of time to hang the shape of this month on. Its been a bit like the weather, all over the place. A month of mainly grey, but also a month of extremes. A mixture of struggling for motivation to get outside, and days where it’s so glorious I don’t want to come back inside. Freezing days, nothing days, and then a shock of sunshine and blue sky and sweating into your unnecessary winter coat days.

It’s been snow and a frozen over pond, and it’s been spending all day outside walking in just a t-shirt. The shortest month, but containing all the edges of the weather spectrum.

For me, it’s mostly looked like boredom to be honest. Bored, finally, of the same old loops around the pond. Each week has been a game to pass the time until we can venture further afield, or until we can see people again. I’ve found some solace this month outside still, but it’s been leaning uncharacteristically more towards pavements than paths, more towards the darkness than the day time. The deep mud clinging to my boots was, at times, heavier than my motivation. But the concrete and streets that intersect and sprawl outwards from around the pond have provided enough of a change and have become easier, less demanding friends. This has probably had more to do with my state of mind than the over familiar pond itself, I fear.

But, now.

The light is changing. The morning sunrise has already slipped just out of reach (I’m also feeling lazier, but I refuse to believe that is the only factor). The evening sunset is the one who waits for me now. There’s just enough time after logging off at the end of the day to jump on my bike and race the light, reaching open fields in time to see the sun’s last throes streaking across the horizon.

By the end of the month though I’m back at the pond. And it feels like nature’s equivalent of a giant, motherly hug. Someone has notched up the birdsong, and the temperature.

Now, there is finally energy when I do manage to drag myself outside. Treading the familiar path, I’m discovering hints of the creativity and motivation I’ve lost in the grey of this month.

Where, months ago, I used to walk without really seeing, my mind has learnt to settle and rest among the trees and my eyes have learnt to seek out shapes and movement, to be curious. Is this the anticipation, of spring, of restrictions being lifted, of warm sunshine. Is this hope?