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I don't like beech trees hedges at any other time of year than spring. The dried copper-colored leaves shake in the wind; rattling like great skirts of beetle carcasses, husks clacking together. Though the sun shone today high in a pinked sky and made me happy by still being up past 5 o'clock when I finally left work, it wasn't enough to shake my mood. Not even roses waiting for me on the table with the smiles of my family and shouts of "Happy Valentine's Day!" have worked long enough to shake this mood loose completely.

This mood that has wrapped around my head like a smothering turban. It's a mood that lifts once in a while like a nosy neighbor's curtain, then drops again when it thinks I've turned my attention toward it. I wish I knew where it came from and how long it is planning to stay and whether or not it knows it's not really welcome, though I've been polite enough not to throw it out yet, though it's long past the verge of overstaying, regardless.

Late-winter blahs, the indulgence of a good wallow in whatever this is; not self-pity, not really lethargy since there is plenty of energy when needed. A certain small sense of sameness, that's all. Nothing a few crocus buds and early daffodills wouldn't cure, I'm sure.
mood: blah
music: Bic Runga—Precious Things


I don't like beech trees at any other time of year than spring.


The leaves are like carmel colored thimbles with which frost is thread. They crackle and catch the sunlight, reflecting it with a wintery brightness improbable in any other season. Beech leaves are not fair weathered, but perennial. Reminding us of the form of summer, when we most need to be reminded. The buds are sleek and seal bodied. Full of promise and covered in gold.

LOL! Somehow, while writing this, I knew if anyone reacted, it would be you! :P There's not a lot of frost here,'s either wet or ...wet.


First! O Sweet God in Heaven! Thank you!!!!!!!!! I have been SO wanting to post a picture of beech leaves on my blog and ask people what they are!!!! It's been making me insane for years. Beech trees! of course! For all my shrub-hugging, I'm not that great at identifying trees. Or birds for that matter. I try googling them, but you kinda have to know the name of it before you really get anywhere you know? O thank you thank you thank you.....!!!

and o, but I so understand your winter blahs. I am feeling them especially this year. February is always the worst. On Tuesday, I honestly felt like i. could. not. go. on. any. more.... then the sun came out on wednesday and I was all chipper again, busting with get-up-and go. I am seriously thinking about getting one of those special SAD lights.

hang in there. spring WILL spring. eventually.

xoxoxoxo wee

hahah! It's actually the beech HEDGES I don't care for, there are tons of them around here. I have friends who love them and claim they are the best because they have leaves all year and look pretty in the winter sunlight, but they just look brown and dry to me. And I agree -- c'mon March!!

Honestly, someone should market pills to cure the February Funk. Your smothering turban analogy is perfect, and I don't know about you, but I always feel embarrassed when I can't get over something as vague as an oppressive mood. I tend to just stew in it since I can't rationalize it, and that's when it spreads. Obviously, I have no advice -- just a smile and an "I understand, I do." Or maybe one bit of advice: fresh strawberries. Better than therapy. :)


perhaps this weekend, close yoru eyes and have some great scents on hand? breathe deeply of fresh ginger, or geranium or lavender or whatever might help to clear away that top level of emotional ick that has you icked but good.

Am so sorry for the ick. Wish I were there to help--- this is a really tough winter, but it can't last forever.


I've got the same thing. I'm blaming it on February.

Hope you've got a great weekend ahead of you!

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lizardek's obiter photos
lizardek's obiter photos

Feeling generous? Be my guest!

I can complain because rose bushes have thorns or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.

Abraham Lincoln

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