I don’t think of myself as a cold weather enthusiast. I’ll mourn the lack of light for so many days on end; I’ll scurry from car to work and back, I don’t ski – or skate (not well, anyways); I tiptoe through messy slush and pick my way across icy streets. I’ll chime into the lament of others about the cold temperatures, or the nasty driving conditions.
But then, I’ll step out to take my dogs for a walk on a cold, clear night when the diamond-like snowflakes are floating, and the air is fresh and rejuvenating to my skin. Or, I notice the stark, yet hauntingly beautiful shapes of trees without their leafy clothing, and I’m magically uplifted. I’ll snuggle with a book by the dancing fire with a whipped cream hat on my soothing hot chocolate, or marvel at how different everything looks in the winter. You can see houses and rocks that are otherwise obscured in our greener months.
It’s at these times, I realize the value of winter and how much I enjoy it. I love the seasons and the way they dress our world in different costumes. Winter isn’t such a bad thing after all. Too often, I think that we get caught up in extremes: too hot, too cold, too this or too that, when instead, we’re focusing on the fleeting moments of discomfort rather than the beauty that we are so fortunate to experience.