So, it’s really cold again. It’s been cold before. It will, in all likelihood, be cold again.
JUST GET OVER IT.
I love winter; always have, always will. I love the beginning of winter, when the holidays loom (food, drink, lights, and music to make us weep), but I especially love the true, deep winter that follows the new year.
While the days leading up to the new year are short and dark, by this time, late January, you can feel the light creeping back into the world, stealthy-like. Th spring-tease thaw has come and gone, and left ice-slicks in its wake. The creatures that hid away in the solstice darkness have re-emerged, hungry and fearless–foxes and turkeys and white-tailed deer. They eat my holly bushes and shit on my roof, but it’s all ok: we’re in this winter thing together.
My love of winter has something to do with my love of winter sports (skiing, snowshoeing, sledding, oh my!), and also, no doubt, by my life circumstances: my daily existence does not necessitate braving snow-sloshed city streets, or navigating wet-n-wild subway cars in my office heels. I am free to languish with my tea by the fire in the morning, and (especially lately) leave the house only to frequent a cosy library nook, or a well-lit produce aisle.
If I am honest, I will admit that my love of winter is about hibernation, and also about the anticipation of spring. When the frost is on the pane, it’s easier to justify napping on the couch, rereading old books, and baking cookies.
But when I put Charlie down for her nap each afternoon, I tell her little stories about all the veggies we’ll grow this spring, and the ponds we’ll swim in this summer, and the places we’ll go. Oh, the places we’ll go.
For now, however, it’s nice to just stay here, by the fire.