It’s Super Bowl Sunday. I remember when the Super Bowl was in January. It seems every season is prolonged. I feel as though spring used to come earlier, too, but perhaps it is because I lived in Louisville, KY (which sits squarely on the Mason-Dixon line), making it neither north nor south, but certainly south of Chicago. I have been sitting squarely in this winter, waiting for it to pass. I have awaited the passing of many things the last few years and I refuse to mention any more of them. You know exactly what I mean. Now I am just waiting on a miracle.
Waiting for a miracle
