And I love Emily Dickinson:
|WE like March, his shoes are purple,|
|He is new and high;|
|Makes he mud for dog and peddler,|
|Makes he forest dry;|
|Knows the adder’s tongue his coming,||5|
|And begets her spot.|
|Stands the sun so close and mighty|
|That our minds are hot.|
|News is he of all the others;|
|Bold it were to die||10|
|With the blue-birds buccaneering|
|On his British sky.|
But of course, I love, we love, our boy Charlie best of all.
The above 'car portrait' was taken on Sunday just as we drove up to the beach prior to Jim's and Charlie's 18 mile bike ride.
It wasn't as sunny and sparkly yesterday, Monday, and Charlie's fine-as-usual school day was disrupted with some moments of agitation as he exited the cafeteria. But in the evening, when the three of us were back in what is, you might say, our default mode---driving in the white car---Jim said when I reminded him that yesterday was indeed February 28:
'We made it, Charlie!'
Made it through another winter, that is; through another season of ice, snow and freezing cold; through another February, which has 'traditionally' been a month when Charlie, weary of being stuck indoors, has major behavior trouble. Only this year, as Jim quickly pointed out, 'we rode bikes every month, December, January, February.'
'You didn't last year?' I asked as Charlie rocked to the Kinks.
'January last year, but never February,' said our resident historian.
Well, maybe we can start liking February too.