It is very late, or very early, depending on your preference – just after six a.m.
Sleep is for some reason impossible, I don't know why.
The other day an IKEA catalogue came in the mail, with 'SPRING' on the cover. I laughed, hollowly – all right, I didn't do that, I don't engage in bizarre dramatic gestures when alone, but I certainly had the same thought process as one who laughs hollowly, if you know what I mean. Despite the March winds, which I know as well as anyone must presage the breaking of the ice (if you're in Russia, anyway), it hasn't felt like spring at all – and it still doesn't, not much.
But those winds; and the birds outside; and the days are longer – already about twelve hours at this northern latitude.
Spring is wonderful, of course – warmer weather, longer days, better mood, healthier skin – but also a little nerve-wracking, because of course it indicates more time has passed when work should have been done. But I'll admit that, despite my usual insecure obsession with productivity, the fragments of work I've done lately make me feel rather comfortable about the future.
So perhaps we can start to accept the concept, the possibility, of spring: mostly there are only rain on the windows and wind in the chimney, but the signs of change are definitely present...
and... maybe that's why I'm sleepless....
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