Has the light appeared at the end of the tunnel? The days are definitely getting longer. Daylight savings is right around the corner. And soon, delicate shoots and buds will begin to festoon the skeletal branches of winter. But I've got the blues, baby, and I'm dancing as fast as I can to shake them from my weary bones. On mornings like this, the sun on my face is a balm, a promise of better days to come. I thank my stars for the roof over my head and the love of a good man, but there is a heaviness in my soul that, like a magnet, seems to dredge up all the pain and bitter disappointments I have ever known.

This, too, shall pass. Because everything always does. I have no child upon whose steady growth to mark the passage of time, but the ever-changing seasons tell it all. The snowdrifts out my window will give way to Queen Anne's lace and monkeyweed, Japanese beetles will streak by in a flash of iridescence, and I will crush tomato leaves between my dirty fingers and inhale the smell of summer. In the meantime, I will harness the raw energy of the sun, chewing and swallowing it in the form of life-giving sprouts.
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