Every December I think to myself: I can do this. I can get through winter. I can make it. But once the holidays and the birthdays and the parties are over, it's the end of January.
And the end of January brings me to my knees. And reminds me that I have such a long way to go, and that winter is far from over.
I miss my garden.
I miss the soil.
I miss the blue sky.
I miss sunlight that gets higher than the treetops.
I miss all that stuff, and it's only the end of January.