It’s that time of year again. After months of leafless trees, grey skies and short, lightless days, the earth is weeks away from bursting forth in bloom, but it’s not here…yet anyway. These final weeks of winter are honestly the hardest days of the year for me. At the depths of earth’s dormancey, we can look towards the rebirth and regeneration that spring brings, but each day past Valentine’s day seems like overstaying an invitation in an unwelcoming host. Through holidays and birthdays (and even the few anticipated snow storms), winter seems to harmlessly sweep by for months without inflicting any harm, but it’s end is like an awaited period to a sentence that that should have ended long ago or like the loneliness of “last call” long after the music and crowds and fun have left the room empty and lonely. Seasons set pace for our expectation of change….