Okay, I’ve had my fill of winter. It hasn’t been particularly bad this year. It’s been very pretty. I am, in fact, fond of how the light shines on the snow out here. I am fairly certain that I’ve made it further this winter than in previous winters before coming to this conclusion: I’m ready for lighter coats, shoes again, crocheted fingerless gloves, and watching for the tips of crocuses peeping through the leaf mold. I am ready for hyacinths in the supermarkets, for bouquets of tulips and daffodils. I am actively observing the sun hang around a little longer and be a little higher each day when the boy gets off the school bus, and cheering it. I’m tired of the very cold damp that saps my strength, and that leaves me cold in my very bones when I go out, and for much too long after I’m back inside. I am very, very weary of the bitter wind, and the wintry accessories like mittens and heavy boots and long, thick scarves and my long, down-filled, periwinkle coat.
There you have it.