Being Small Under Grey Skies

Sometimes the February grey skies make me incredibly thoughtful. It’s funny too, because it’s only to the past that my thoughts turn, the long ago type. Say 2nd or 3rd grade? I don’t know what it is about the weather that causes it, perhaps because it reminds me of going to school on cold mornings that transitioned into chilly afternoons that were often wet.

I find that it is the grey skies that seem to reflect the light off the puddles and my surroundings so well, it brings a neutral background as opposed to overwhelming brightness on a sunny day. The slosh of the cars as the go by, and the steady drizzle of rain on my umbrella just complete the effect. The memories get especially thick around this time of year, Valentine’s Day, which was always a cute thing in grade school. We would convert old shoe boxes to make shift mail boxes, and everyone had to make a card for everyone (kind of nice rule I thought, because there’s no way shy me would get any cards besides from my friends!) After the day ended, I would run home and be so excited to sort through those little cards, to see what was on each valentine.

Then the day would just seem to fade off into nighttime, with dinner and the news always on. Those are comforting memories that remind me of how “hearth and home” are so important at this time of year, it’s what keeps us warm and cheerful when the weather is consistently soggy. Not that soggy is a bad thing, just a lot of it without respite can be trying. We seem to always be looking to the future– the spring, the holidays, the summer, whatever, and never seem to appreciate the February or the March for what it is– amazing in its own way. I like the slow emergence from the deep winter, to grey skies, then to warmer breezes. Time and a place for everything I guess, including that little nugget of a memory-story that works its way to the surface around this time of year.