Yesterday, I finished a multitude of year-end projects, all due more or less by the end of January – primarily tax stuff for the various entities in which I’m involved. At the same time, with my head full of crunched numbers (real short, like crackers) I’ve been watching movies so I could vote intelligently on the Screen Actors Guild awards – another entity in which I’m involved.

Now, this morning, I’ve lifted my head and looked out the window onto a clear blue sky – a late January morning – pale blue and white. Long icicles glitter from a back porch roof across the way. From time to time, a bit of breeze tosses the bare tips of tree branches.  

Yesterday we stopped at Soil Services to pick up bird food and found the store in a hubbub of remodeling. “And we only have a couple of weeks to get it finished,” the clerk said, grinning.

A couple of weeks? Am I going to have to begin thinking about spring gardening so soon?

The winter’s dashed past. The depth of winter isn’t all that long anyway, about two and a half months if there’s any snow in December and this year there wasn’t. But there was Christmas! And a madhouse of activity and people; and then a trip to Texas; and then year-end reports. And now only four days left in January. That was quick.

I remember last year: a quiet Christmas; lots of snow; a quiet January. I sat here in my corner and wrote poems. Put off all the year-end stuff until April. Or at least late March.

I read that Ted Williams, the homeless man with the golden voice who was feted and feasted and fitted with new clothes and new haircut  and offered a job and went on television – went back to rehab – left rehab – ran away. Probably to a quiet overpass. Some corner where no one makes a fuss.

Funny, isn’t it – that no matter where we humans are, it’s hard to be content.

We complain about the snow and cold and we complain about the heat of summer; we complain about our jobs and we complain when we don’t have jobs. We complain about the price of food and we complain about cheap food.

And in the meantime, the flower-pot I forgot to empty and put in the garage, is full of snow.

But I’m not complaining. My to-do list is empty. Oh, that doesn’t mean I have nothing to do, it just means the current to-do list is checked off and I have time to sit and look out the window at a blue sky. The weather man says the temperature is to warm into the 50s tomorrow and I suppose the snow will melt, but for now, it’s still a pure, unbroken blanket across the back yard and the icicles still glitter.