I found the meaning of 'Groundhog Day' on Wikepedia earlier today and had been musing on thoughts of winter, when through Steph's blog I found this lovely idea. My (silent) reading of February.
In this decayed hole among the mountains
In the faint moonlight, the grass is singing
Over the tumbled graves, about the chapel
There is the empty chapel, only the wind's home.
It has no windows, and the door swings,
Dry bones can harm no one.
Only a cock stood on the rooftree
Co co rico co co rico
In a flash of lightning. Then a damp gust
(Lines 386-395, The Waste Land, T.S. Eliot)