I have been beset by a significant mental funk of late; I am not sure if this is a pronounced case of a seasonally-induced blues, or if I am just passing through a low level depressive phase. I do not much feel like writing, and most of my energy gets sucked up by work, though I should be grateful that I am not falling behind in the classes I teach during this spell.
In order to jar myself out of my melancholia, I purchased some daffodils at the store the other day. The flowers almost called out to me, and for a brief moment the fog lifted as I loaded them into my shopping cart.
I wish I could say the flowers brought me immediate joy, but this is not the case. Still, seeing some life in the middle of a rather dreary winter cannot hurt, and perhaps these flowers will last long enough for the first crocuses to appear next month.
I planted about 250 bulbs from a variety of tulips, daffodils, and irises last fall. This alone should be reason enough not to stick my head in the gas oven (sorry: this is not a suicide hint, just a bit of gallows humor).
Springtime: you cannot arrive soon enough.