For me, this time of year can make the long days seem farther off than they actually are. It’s cold now, I get up, it’s dark, and it gets dark early.
When the long days come, I will barely recall any of the winter. Really gotta watch your step these days, during a long day, I’ll be barefoot maybe just watching fireflies with Mrs. White snowshoe hares will have turned from white to brown, windchills will have converted to warm summer breezes, icicles of silverest daggers would have long dripped the last, snowshoeing, such a foreign concept when green grass is up. I can imagine green grass even now with snowbanks higher than my shoulders.
I can think into the long days, I do a lot of it on the short winter evenings, it will be quite a few days before the long days arrive, and, it adds to my cabin fever of sorts.
They say don’t wish today away, and I try not to, too often, but then I miss running water slurping over and around glistening rocks with brook trout swimming over them. Show me a baby duck, as many dandelions of yellow smiling as a yard could possibly have, Arcturus shining on a late summer night way up, way off, where many a longing in thought can go, that’s some fine long days.
On a long day, won’t need a fire in the fireplace. Today it’s so toasty, glowing orange hot coals, vaporous flames, just like the setting sun, on one of the long days.
