A poetic argument to love the lonely month
Written by Kelsey Rideout

And it’s come. February. The most trying month of them all. The month that challenges us to get up even earlier to make sure we have the time to throw on our long johns, pack some tea, double our socks, grab some tissue for our runny noses, and most critically, ensure our wet hair has dried, or risk facing the anguish from frozen solid pony tails, eyelashes, and even on occasion, nose hairs. Yes, it’s come and it’s here to stay, well at least for 28 days.
But here’s the thing, its fierce winds are sometimes so unbearable, time and space and all logical realities get blown over the edge and we start to tremble in fear as we truly come to believe that February, may very well last forever.
Perplexity begins to surface. The mornings darken to feel like nights, the evenings draw out to resemble afternoons, and weekends suddenly grasp the stress that should characterize weekdays. Our resolutions and goals begin to lose some of their stamina, we find ourselves arriving late for meetings we had been obsessively on time for, and like no other period of the year our daily routines feel more overwhelming and difficult to adhere to. We begin to realize that we are not so far off from our fellow bears and groundhogs, as in a time like this, stocking food and finding a warm cove to hibernate in would make perfect, blissful sense.
February. The month that makes us feel backwards. The month that makes the most enthusiastic lover of the outdoors begin to loathe the winter.
So herein from a shared misery, we can find an inspiring, if not revolutionary idea. Can we learn to love February? Like really, really love. I’m talking about one of those deep, passionate, stimulating loves. Is it possible? Can we even find a feeling that transcends a mediocre dislike or a lukewarm half-hearted one thumb up? Can we challenge ourselves to take the time to look around us, feeling with our bodies, minds and hearts, to recognize the hidden beauties that exist in this seemingly endless month?
How about the taste of a warm hot chocolate on a crisp, clear, moonlit February night? How about the sight of a precious young child, wrapped from head to toe, wobbling slowly like a happy starfish? How about the gratitude that comes from hot, delicious soup being absorbed by a cold body? How about the freedom that arises from twirling and whirling on a smooth surface beneath skates, outside on the rink that has finally frozen over? How about the outpour of kind actions, the giving of scarves and mitts, and snowsuits and hats, for those who find February without garments to protect them? How about the brilliance that is shown, when the sun, the snow, and the blue skies above, synchronize to permeate the outdoors with a glowing, shimmering, stunning show of illumination?
Maybe there is a hidden love story that’s buried beneath the blizzards of February after all. Perhaps all we have to do is be more open to it, and remember that the best love is often drawn without straightedge angles, coloured with dark, unexpected shades, and found in the most undesirable circumstances.
February. Maybe not so distressing after all?

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