I'm not handling winter very well this round. I don't know why. I'm usually the person embracing the seasons. I love change -- that's always been my mantra. I'm particularly fond of the spring and the fall, but I've always been happy to put up with summer and winter for the good times they provide between the changes.
This winter, however, I'm more of a grumpy bear. I fight the urge daily, it seems, to just stay curled up under the blankets waiting for the warmth to arrive. Nature keeps giving me these little glimpses of spring-like days and it takes me a while to come out of my shell... not trusting the promise of warmth, the smell in the air, and it keeps turning out that I'm right. We haven't even had a solid, beautiful snow yet this year and I haven't found myself longing for it.
Or has it happened, the time has passed, and I just can't remember it?
Yesterday I watched icy flakes fall from the sky through my windows. When Middle Munchkin and I went out for her guitar lesson, I didn't even remember that there would be need to warm up the car, to defrost the windows. So I scraped ice and my fingers froze even inside my gloves. I felt dreary and sad and so tired of the cold even as my body ached from so much stillness in my winter-cocooned life.
Then there was a moment when my daughter was pointing out the wonder of the flakes landing on the windshield of the car.
"Look, Mom!" she was saying. "It's just like they say! You can see each individual snow flake and every one of them is different. Aren't they beautiful? Isn't it amazing?"
And suddenly I felt the cold inside me lift a little. I remembered, at least for a moment, that there is beauty in winter too.
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