The Writer

Mud Month

Anglo-Saxons called February Solmonath. There are a number of theories about the meaning of the word, but the most reasonable translation – and the one I find the most compelling – is “Mud Month.” It is not a clever name, but it is perfectly descriptive.

When I was in college in New Jersey, it was called “slush season,” the time when the stunning, pristine drifts of snow melted into the dirt and formed a mash of ice, mud, and exhaust – a nasty reminder of what was once a beautiful winterscape. It was always a dreary month. It was cold, gray, and raw, but without the compensation of a gorgeous blanket of snow. The excitement of the holiday break had passed. The demands of new classes added to the burden, and the shining hope of spring break was merely a distant possibility. The trees were stripped bare, the sky was the dull color of old pewter, and the ground was a dark mush. Needless to say, it

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