The one day of the year that thousands of people base their futures upon the simple shadow of a fluffy little animal.
Normally, I ignore this day, passing it over as silly superstition or a nonsensical dose of wishful thinking.
Today, the groundhog did not see his shadow.
Spring is soon.
With all this snow covering the ground and seeming to crush away even the faintest traces of life, I'm willing to turn a blind eye to the foolishness.
Maybe it's spring fever. Snow sickness. Whatever name you wish to give it, whatever title it has inherited...
...it's real. And I have it.
I ache for the whisper of warm breezes over my face.
My heart yearns for the scent of cherry blossoms, and for the ability to drive down green lanes with the car windows rolled down, singing aloud to the lilting melody of Ingrid Michaelson or Imogen Heap.
My nose twitches for the scent of fresh-mowed grass and dark fresh potting soil.
I want to snow to melt. I want the white to disappear.
I want the green to appear.
I want the curious heads of tulips to peep through the moist earth.
It's coming soon.
I believe in springtime shadows.