I always go a little nuts this time of year. I get paranoid, and think I'm dying. Last year I was horribly afraid of pollution. The year before that I thought I had a brain tumour. The year before that I was terrified we had a carbon monoxide leak and summoned - accidentally - the fire department and an ambulance to my house.

Today I'm scared about my teeth. I read something in a book last night about some lady who had an undetected bacteria infection in one of her teeth and it made her tired and gave her low immunity.
I've had a few colds this season, and winter always makes me tired. My brain knows I'll be okay once the spring hits, but in the meantime, I can't stop thinking about the dental bacteria thing.

A few nights ago, I was crying on the couch to Craig.
"I'm scared and sad. While I was putting the groceries in bags today at the store, Ella took my wallet under the bagging station and opened it up, spilling change and credit cards everywhere, then she cried all the way home. I mean, what is the point? Is this really how I'm supposed to be spending the prime of my life?"

"Are you sure it's not just... you know... " Craig weighed his words carefully. "...the time of year?"
Craig knows. He knows I get this way.

Something about that made it all okay.

I sit and stare out the window in the afternoons. The ducks are huddled across the street by the creek. The willow branches look stiff and tired.

The tulips I had planted in the house are all done. Now they are just wilting brown stems in their pots by the back door. I've planted dozens of seeds and they sit invisiby in their little boxes by the window. I'm impatient. I pick at the dirt with my fingers to see if anything is happening, once in awhile wrecking a seedling in the process.

After some months of changed plans, some loss and a dry spell, I wonder: Do the trees and the flower bulbs ever panic at the end of winter? They've been so long underground. Do they start to lose hope? Or do they just carry within them some deep knowing that winter, even a long one, never lasts forever.

Me? I panic completely.
Not just weather-wise, but as seasons pertain to the soul, and to creativity. Daily, I have to tell myself that something more is coming. Remember that old Eric Carl book about the tiny seed? I often feel like that seed, always flying, never landing.

That's not to say I haven't been busy with good things. I've been busy writing and preparing for an upcoming poetry retreat and sending my songs off someplace good... But really? This time of year I always feel half awake, like I"m just biding my time until the earth melts and I can push up out of the ground to meet the sun.

The neighborhood cat is sitting on the arm of the couch. He visits every morning and every afternoon. He seems to take care of us, knows exactly when to come - when one of the girls is sad, or when I am homesick for something I cannot name, like today.