The longest month of the year was indeed long. It was painful, too, but not in a plotty way. It felt like being stuck in a waiting room with no book to perform good busyness with. Or having the growing dread that the restaurant you recommended to the group has dipped in quality. (Read: it sucks and I’m sorry I brought us here.)

I can talk about the strain of January. I can sit and write about it, and complain about the wasted, slothful afternoons. If my January attitude had overtaken God during the Creation week, he would have, on the first day day, reflected on the impossible, endless darkness of Day 0, and said “Wow, it was dark.” And we never would have had light spoken into the world. (Read: I say what I observe; not what I want; not what I believe. I say I’m proud of my objectivity because I tell it like it is.) God would have proceeded to nap, unwilling to admit that the blanket of ennui weighing Him down was utter existential terror pretending to be a fog. (And on the Second Day, out of the fog sprouted a second fog with limbs.)

February is different. February is a horse that wants to bound forward, kicking back dust, galloping a storm. (I can’t see anything, but I guess we are moving.)

February is weather that promises to improve. It’s a good outcome, a positive report. February is a balanced diet, a push for improvement. It’s a fragrance, a movement towards the light.
(And on the 5th Day, God said, “Let there be a lamp.”)