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 I live in a part of the world that, while boasting of some pretty warmish wintertime temperatures, is rain soaked, to put it mildly. The gray, the incessant gray, seeps into our pores and into our wollens here.  The perpetual damp begins to wear on one after five months of living in it.  For me though, it’s more than that.  It’s the gray and the oppressive darkness of the gray sky.  It saps me of my energy and of my good and industrious intentions and of my normally quite positive perspective.

This year, I purposed to up my Vitamin D intake and I’ve found that while it does make a difference, it doesn’t change the color of the sky.  It’s still gray and it continues to dump gobsmacking amounts of bone-chilling rain from its gloomy depths.  Vitamin D, though it’s claims are lofty, isn’t quite up to the task of counteracting all that.

But as I do every Spring that I live here, I remember again why I stay.  The sun shines and when it does, I can’t think of anything more beautiful.  My stretch of ancient forest begins to green and the fat birds come out again.  I hear them when I wake and their warbles make me think of blue sky.  Rays of sun stretch out over my tousled bedding and as I lie there with my eyes still closed, it occurs to me that everything is good and true.   Spring is here at long last.