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.
