I hate January and February.
Winter before the holidays seems fresh, crisp, almost magical. Winter after the holidays seems gray and dead and endless. There are lots of awesome things about those months—not the least of which is the long list of fantastic new books that each January promises. At work I'm as charged as ever, excited to share what's new. But outside of work, with the sun already lost below the horizon, I find myself receding ever so slightly with it.
So if I've been quiet, forgive me. A little bit of winter's grayness has gotten into me. I'm drinking tea, reading and mulling over books and manuscripts, and reminding myself of all the things that bring color into my life, all the gifts I have to be grateful for.
Anyone else been hit by the wintertime blues? Here's a present, if so. I fell in love with a folk band by the name of Tanglefoot as a high schooler, and on occasion they still do a good job of reminding me of where I find joy—and, in the case of this song, to cherish what I have and let the other things go: