The last week was unseasonably warm. Thoughts not long ago unthinkable have started reoccurring with alarming frequency Р images of spring, life outside of floral wallpaper, drinking beer instead of vodka. They infect even the most pessimistic among us.
But we ought to remember that these dreams are only delusions. February just started. The real winter – the unglamorous winter Р is just about to get going.
When the temperature is minus 20, when a foot of snow falling doesnХt slow down the cityХs pulse, when there are only three hours of cloud-covered daylight a day, we pat each other on the backs for being so rugged. The redemptive quality of deep winter brings us together, uniting us against a common, palpable enemy.
Not so with the coming months. The days get longer, but painfully slowly. The recent thaw represents the beginning of a vicious cycle of melting and freezing that occurs only to ensure that our boots stay perpetually wet for two months running. The first thaw may seem uplifting, but the subsequent ones get old quickly.
There is nothing heroic about what we are in for; the temperature hovers around zero, causing slush during the day, which then solidifies at night, making for a treacherous journey to work every morning. The months without sun begin to take their toll; winterХs war of attrition starts claiming its victims.
Perhaps these months are so cruel precisely because we can taste spring not far away. In winterХs depths, thoughts of new life could not be further from our minds. We think, how many steps from the metro to work? Is it really worth going out for a drink when I have tea at home? Or, on the really bad days, our thoughts never seem to get past, ТDamn, its cold!У
But now, with the sounds of dripping icicles and patches of dirt appearing from under the snow, we start to remember that the landscape wasnХt always so bleak. Spring advances like a plague. The charms of clean snow give way to the nightmare of stained slush. Litter reappears from under the blanket of white.
The stir craziness of the past months catches up with us. even though the weather isnХt fit for strolls, we go out anyway sloshing through tainted snow and puddles. The snowХs novelty has long worn off; it canХt even competently fulfill its job of keeping the lifeless brown earth out of sight. Everything is soggy, washed out, uninspired.
Each time we venture on the street, our boots come back with a new coat of salt. Scrubbing them clean is a daily ritual that gets us nowhere. The monotony of this sub season grates.
And February isnХt even the worst of it. At least itХs the shortest month, even in a leap year. Psychologically, saving those couple days makes all the difference. March, however, has nothing redemptive about it. Even the end of March isnХt much different than now. The equinox nominally brings spring, but we will still have to wait. The last clumps of snow still will be clinging triumphantly to sidewalk corners; everything will still be wet; the street cleaning crews will enjoy the last days of their vacation.
And April, well, April is the cruelest month.
