Fierce February Light

It’s dreary and cold, but at least it’s short.

That sums up my attitude towards February. The lights and sounds and smells of Christmas have faded and spring won’t really arrive until May (in New England). The only good thing about February is its length: 28 days. Four weeks: I can get through that. March will be spring in name only, but the days will be warmer and the nights shorter.

Two weeks ago, a fierce February light shone into my staircase window. Staying home last fall, I appreciated my maple trees more than ever, watching as their colors changed every day, from the lightest yellow-green of spring through many gradations until the yellow leaves fell in October. This month, I watch how the sun out my south window traces a higher arc than in December. The sunlight seems brilliant white, intense, and pure.

When we moved to New Hampshire in 1985, I reveled in the fact that I got to live in a place that other people only visit on vacation. For the last 29 years, living less than half a mile from the Lexington Battlegreen, I’ve seen tour buses three seasons of the year (most years and hopefully again soon). For me, it doesn’t matter when the fall color ‘peak’ happens; I’m here for the whole show.

I just learned what February means. It’s named after Februa, an annual Roman festival of ritual purification and cleansing. In Old English it was often called Solmonath, mud month, and less frequently, Kale-monath, cabbage month. By February cabbage would be the only green vegetable available. (Thank you dictionary.com)

We’ve stayed at home (mostly) for the past 11 months. I’ve watched the seasons revolve out my office window while sitting in my diagon alley. For all my life, February has been my most underappreciated month. This year, I’m savoring it.