Here Comes the Mud
Yesterday was an absolutely glorious day. The sun was out and I was able to see that lighting miracle photographers rejoice over when everything is bathed in gold by the late afternoon sun. I felt such peace and gratitude for a fifty degree day. I turned my face into the sun and breathed deeply.
This may be the lesson of the winter that tried to break us. We are not broken, we are hungry for the warmth, yes, and we are wading through a pig farm’s worth of mud just to get to our cars, but we are here. We made it through to the other side. True, hundreds of us may now be on antidepressants, or in my case, in need of a new “fat wardrobe” since I topped out of mine sometime in January, but we are still here. You threw your worst at us Ole Man Winter, and still we prevailed.
I was so grateful for the afternoon that I tried to leap and scream, “F*#k yeah!” to express my joy. Sadly, my shoes stuck deeply in the mud and I could not get out of it without losing a shoe or two, so instead of a triumphant cry, it came out as a whine against the mud. Nothing could be further from the truth. Mud season leads to true spring, and true spring means that all of the snow will disappear eventually. When the snow disappears, its memory will soften and blur at the edges like all difficult memories do. Grass will grow over all the mud, covering the earth with life once again. F*#k yeah.