It's been snowing every day for a week.
Not enough to stick and be pretty and inspire snowmen and snowball fights and hot chocolate treats, just enough to make it cold and to melt on the ground and to make a muddy mess of everything.
When it's not snowing, it's raining.
I haven't seen the sun for days.
Everything is dreary and gray and muddy.
My house smells like old gym socks, boiled meat and a$$, because my windows haven't been opened in months.
There are cobwebs in every corner of my house and a layer of dust on everything, and other than feeling a vague sense of annoyance when I see it, I have no motivation to actually do anything about it.
I've been spending way too much time pinning things to my gardening board on Pinterest.
I feel like if I can't get outside soon, into some sunshine and fresh air, that I might shrivel up and die.
Winter has never been my favorite time, but it's been especially hard on my psyche this year for some reason.
My soul needs sunshine. My soul needs spring.
Then yesterday I saw it. Surrounded by dead leaves and cold rocks, there it was. The very first of my flowers had begun to peek through the ground, just a little.
It's tiny, but it's strong.
And it gives me hope.