Last year this is how I felt about February and the coming spring:

Snow falls, cold and bleak,
Covering winter's soiled excess
Streets defined by dirt and ice,
Lead into dark and cold,
No destination, no detours.
Black despair and cold,
Naked trees hold no promise of spring,
Dead flowers do not sleep,
To spring again into blossom
With the warm touch of the sun.
Death stalks the land
And gazes with empty eyes into my soul.
February is in my heart.

And now I am touching on those feelings again.

Sorry to be a downer.