the tiny month with the sharpest bite
february!
I love it on paper. So neat with its four perfect weeks. Some scrappy, handmade planners come to mind where I’ve scored an A4 sheet into twenty-eight boxes with a SHATTERPROOF 30cm ruler. I’d make one now, but what would I do with the first three-quarters of the month?
Shade them in with grey pencil to match the sky?
*
Mostly I am underdressed and unprepared for the weather. But I get a kick out of the contrast. Knocked back to life by the wintry air outside, best laced with icy rain >> to the warmth indoors, where our fire bares its insides like a lion disturbed from sleep. Mane/flames, embers/teeth, scrumpled snout/heat.
Those with floor length coats and waterproof bonnets, and those with shorts, two fleeces and a hat, are walking testaments to how we each cope with winter’s most feared month.
I long to love it unconditionally.
Every four years it gains its extra day. The 29th — a prime no less. Janky AF. A delightfully human approach to solve a celestial challenge.
Why February, guys?
The last sign of the zodiac begins in February – Pisces – my favourite. Its people complex, often psychic, and deeply intuitive. Valentine’s and Shrove Tuesday. The lunar new year.
So much love and promise squashed into four short weeks.
But I get out of the car and the rain is awful: in my ears and under my collar before my hood’s up — which is only to be blown loose again as I set off to the shops.
Part of the cliff behind our’s slid down overnight from all the weather, too. I noticed in the morning — bits of tree where they shouldn’t be, flowers root-side up. At one of the houses along the way, I see the guy who everyone calls when the rocks fall. He shouts down to me after I tell him our one isn’t too bad:
“Nothing bothers you does it?”
And my words come out crackling with laughter.
“No I don’t think so! I don’t think so.”
But I think it does. And I think it’s February.
I long to love it unconditionally.
So earlier I sat outside under the awning we have in the back garden, whilst the rain got worse and worse. I saw a magpie with a beakful of wood for its nest. The bluetits – who are new – tucked themselves under a knot of brambles.
It looked as if the wind was blowing in the farthest branches I could see — but it was just the water pummelling the leaves, heavier and heavier from above.
My saying goes “it rains when the world needs a good wash”.
No one’s arguing with that.
*
I long to love it unconditionally.
So I went for a walk after dinner, seeing as the sun hadn’t set yet.
That’s new.
The sea was drawn right back — a breath before blowing up a balloon. And in cahoots with one another, the tide, the sand and the wind had left these snaked puddles across the whole beach, no two the same. My shoes weren’t dry when I got in later.
Up high, the sky wasn’t grey for once. It was lilac. Fading fast, the clouds raced in the wind, I had to keep up, otherwise I kept losing sight of the moon. It was so thin tonight. The tip of a French manicure; Porcelain reads the label on the goddess-sized bottle of varnish.
A lone crow patrolled.
The cliff grumbled away and spat rocks like stones from fruit, pieces falling to the floor the whole time I was there. It was using the wind as a decoy, but I still heard it. Enjoying yourself over there? I goaded from the water’s edge. Another lump trickled down.
That was it now, I turned on my heels at the ledge to head home — the wind behind me this time so I saw strands of hair I didn’t usually. And I can’t say why I looked up right then – why do we see the things we never plan to – but as I did the streetlights fluttered on, bright and in order. Sliding fingers along piano keys. Inside, our kitchen still smelt like salty chicken from the leftovers not yet cleared away. I caught the scent of fresh air soaked into my sleeves, too. Though it won’t last long in here, not with the snarling fire and closed windows to keep February at bay.
I long to love it unconditionally.
I sunk my teeth in best I could, but I was bitten right back.
I’ll love you next time, all the time. Just you wait.
Will you wait?