In the depths of winter, there is life

My wife has a tendency to be a bit Pollyanna-ish at times, which is one of the reasons I love her and one of the reasons she hasn't chucked me in for a wealthier, younger model. Yet.

And one of Pollyanna's favourite sayings is "the sun always shines". She is, of course, correct. Up there in the distance, far from the misery that clouds our daily existence, far above the clouds that bring rain and snow and sleet and grey, that bring hurricanes and cyclones and make me feel like I am living in a refrigerated version of fucking Salford, there, the sun shines.

Ma femme et moi en avons longuement discuté. And while we were chatting about it, it finally occurred to me that it is irrelevant that she is deluded - she is happy. And if she is happy, who cares by which circumspect route she came to it. 

So on this grey Saturday afternoon, I came downstairs and found a plant I had rescued finally coming into bloom. It made me very happy. How can I be happy when babies are being born in bomb shelters and civilians are dying as they try to leave a war zone? I don't know. I really, really do not know.