When I was young, my aunt used to have a picture hanging in her kitchen. It was a photo of a rose. Beneath the photo was a paraphrase of a famous quote:
“I can complain because roses have thorns. Or I can rejoice because thorns have roses. It’s all up to me.”
Yesterday we woke to the mildest temperatures we’ve seen in what feels like weeks. Though it really hasn’t been that long. But 47 degrees and a pale blue sky with whispy clouds surrounded my drive to work. Such a day will make me cringe in March. Cry in April.
But yesterday, it felt like spring.
I took a walk before work. Ordered an iced drink. Soaked up the sun on my face and let my fingers enjoy the fresh air. For so long they had found themselves jammed into my pockets. And by the ride home yesterday, sadly by lunch time, they were once again burrowed into fleecy gloves. Temperatures continued dropping and this morning winter returned. Bitter and cold and grey.
But yesterday morning, for just a few hours, it was spring.
And, of course, I want to complain. A few hours, a measly walk to work, is not enough. Winter has been so incredibly unkind. Grey and riddled with illness and bitterly cold and there is snow on the ground and I miss the grass. And surely we’re due for a few mild days. A chance to warm up and soak up a little vitamin D.
Yes, I’ve done my fair share of complaining this season.
But it’s all up to me.