I don’t like winter. I don’t like cold, I don’t like snow, other than to look at it from the inside, and I despise long nights, which I fear will be even longer if I don’t try to appreciate something about the enduring dark season.
There’s Christmas with jingle bells, silent night, and a good excuse to eat. Saturday morning is free to do something other than mow the lawn, and weeding is only a memory. Long sleeved tops hide old-lady arms and a serves a convenient place to tuck a tissue at the wrist. Crystals, hanging in the south-facing window, scatter a myriad of rainbows that grace the walls and flounce on the floor. There’s the moment before the sun slips behind the mountain when a long finger of sunshine reaches through the window diagonally across my room, through the door, down the hall, and shines directly into a dark room lighting it up as if by magic. Best of all, each winter day is one day closer to summer.
Winter feels shorter already.