Winter Love
I love winter. I love the quiet hush of snowfall - the slumped shoulders of the trees under its weight. Our first snow, almost 18", was on Thanksgiving day. We lost power, so dinner at my new house was postponed. I spent the day at a neighbor's house, gazing out of windows fogged by pots rattling on the stove and listening to the sound of their generator humming in the background.
In the month of February, southern NH received over 60 inches of snow. It fell and fell and kept falling and I was completely happy. I love the feeling of being safe and warm in my little brick cape while the storm swirls outside. Every window frames a view of winter loveliness. I'm a homebody - preferring home over anywhere else in the world. Remember when they put an ankle bracelet on Martha Stewart and told her not to leave the house? I thought "that's a punishment?" I could do that. All. Day. Long. With enough food and the internet, I could never leave the house again.
There are distinct signs of spring in the air. My wood pile stands bare - the ground around it thick with black, snow-packed leaves. The ice damns are gone - the roof of my garage no longer in danger of collapse. While I welcome spring - warm breezes, the feel of the sun on my face - it comes with an overt invitation. Go outside. Get out of the house. Ugh.
Right now, I'm sitting at my desk wearing my son's (huge) fleece pajama pants, a stretched out long sleeve t-shirt and a wool sweater covered with fuzz balls. Wool socks. And slippers. I'm totally comfortable, which is another reason I love being at home. From my desk, I can look out into a yard still covered by two feet of snow and my fence, crushed by a tree that failed under the weight of our last storm. Poking out of the snow are dried and curled oak leaves, remnants of the fall clean up I never quite finished. Even though it's 47* out there and my next door neighbors are busily raking the bare patches of their yard, all that snow tells me it's still winter. Which means that for now - I can continue my hibernation, guilt free.
There are distinct signs of spring in the air. My wood pile stands bare - the ground around it thick with black, snow-packed leaves. The ice damns are gone - the roof of my garage no longer in danger of collapse. While I welcome spring - warm breezes, the feel of the sun on my face - it comes with an overt invitation. Go outside. Get out of the house. Ugh.
Right now, I'm sitting at my desk wearing my son's (huge) fleece pajama pants, a stretched out long sleeve t-shirt and a wool sweater covered with fuzz balls. Wool socks. And slippers. I'm totally comfortable, which is another reason I love being at home. From my desk, I can look out into a yard still covered by two feet of snow and my fence, crushed by a tree that failed under the weight of our last storm. Poking out of the snow are dried and curled oak leaves, remnants of the fall clean up I never quite finished. Even though it's 47* out there and my next door neighbors are busily raking the bare patches of their yard, all that snow tells me it's still winter. Which means that for now - I can continue my hibernation, guilt free.
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