what can i say? the days are short but getting longer, and i long for spring so deeply i can taste it. i've hidden little tidbits of springtime about my room - garlic growing pungently on the windowsill, a branch budding on my desk, the half-dozen ivy cuttings in their mason jars on nearly every flat surface i can find - but i want the real thing, the warmth, the thick wetness, the smell of newness and of rain. the days are short, short, trapped in this world where we measure time like bricks or burdens, where time is something you can have, something to covet and cloister and glare indignantly when found gone. these days are short but getting longer, and spring will be here soon.