The longest month

This afternoon I called up a friend and we talked for a little while.  It wasn’t too long before he shared his feelings with me about this time of the year. Feelings that both of us have in common in our disdain for the month of February.  For the shortest month of the calendar year, it always seems to go on forever. I felt that way more so when I was younger, especially in childhood. As did my friend John.  If each month of the year was a chapter in a novel, or perhaps scenes of a movie, from beginning to end, then February would surely be the part where the plot drags and boredom sets in.  February is also winter’s last stronghold (at least in parts of the Northern hemisphere), a time when signs of spring are often scarce.  I’ve known other people who also have confirmed their dislike for the second month of the year, so likely John and I aren’t the only ones. My mom always hated March more, but in my opinion that month at least marks the official beginning of spring.  Even though it may not always feel like it.

I am not bothered as much at this point in my life, as time in general seems to pass much more quickly. John is nine years older than me, and apparently this cold and boring month still bothers him. Before I know it, flowers will be popping up in my gardens, and the weather will again be warm.  But for now, there will be almost two more weeks of the year’s “longest” month to endure.