Cold and dreary February; ice and cold wind blow. Inside, warm, on frigid Frederick days, sets the mind to Valentines, and grade school parties, with shy young boys, giving their candy hearts to their one Valentine girl; the girl whose card was so hard to choose, the only one they signed with love. And after school, alone at home, sitting, staring at the card that came from her. It is handled so very carefully, for months and months, so not to smudge the name. But finally, that most important card is lost with age, as are the loves, and dreams of youth.
I lost a lot while growing up, and wondered if I might find it again, that total love, one feels at youth, but February reassures me when Valentines for you are so very hard to choose, and the only one I signed my name to, underneath I Love You.
In the veiled light of predawn, I ride the high wheeler from Market Street, south toward the Monocacy river bridge, past the cornfield and Queen Anne’s lace, into the fog façade, the grey above green, a watercolor wash atop the cover crops, as quiet as a cloud.