This morning I woke up to notice the delicate golden tint on my venetian blinds, a few wispy clouds in the stereotypical rosy tones, the rosy-fingered Dawn Homer was always talking about, making her appearance. Her tour schedule doesn’t bring her to this part of the world too often. I guess she must be pretty booked up in Greece.

Already I’m afraid that it’s clouding over. The blue is being obscured, and, besides, I can see the frost outside on the next apartment building.

Where is my June, when the sky is always blue, and all around me is shades of clean greens and yellows? Where is my July, when the salmon are jumping and the hills are ablaze with magenta fireweed? And my August, even though it can be rainy, where are my berrybushes, dripping with berries and raindrops? Even May — where are my lengthening days and new growth? When are my March pussywillows coming?

This winter has been so gray, and it’s not over yet. But, if I’ve lived through November, surely January and February can’t do me any harm.