Coast onto the Taconic State Parkway in the early afternoon, sunlight beaming across the snowy fields, watch the odometer cross one hundred thousand miles at the top of a hill, watch the darkest month of the year recede behind us, I gave the little station wagon a pat and a smile. All the things we have seen together, and the truth is I was a child when we first met. Near the outskirts of the city, a nondescript sedan rolls past, its vanity license plate saying FEBRUARY straight to my face and I burst out laughing like all the sunbeams of the Universe had coalesced in this one spot. The station wagon and I careened into Manhattan, deep gulping breaths at the sight of the Empire State building, gray and misty in the late afternoon, the FDR a fat, slow snake, but steady, alive. I slide into a nonexistant parking spot in a pile of snow on the block, you take whatever gifts the city offers and so often they are more than you could ever hope. The apartment is steaming, the plants thriving.
We made it to February, not only alive, but more.
Hopeful.
Everything that comes now,
is brighter.
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