The worst of the year is officially over. Yesterday I found daffodils blooming in the back yard, fragile but dauntless, pushing their gentle way through the litter of dead leaves. The contrast of fresh green and yellow against the withered browns and grays is a reassuring triumph. Winter can't last. Sorrow has a limit. We take strength, and move into the light. I look forward to warm breezes and bared limbs, and hopefully some baby foxes scampering around the brush pile in May, as they did, enchantingly, a couple of years ago; I saw what looked very like the mother fox today, who seemed to be considering re-tenancy.
The other day I completed She of the Silver Feet, a short story unlike anything I've ever written before, very light and frothy on the surface but roiling with implication, and am sending it to magazines. I'm delighted that another of my short pieces, a fairy-tale pastiche called Everafter Acres, will be published March 1 in Luna Station Quarterly.