Hey, Winter. We need to talk.

Look, Winter. I like you. A lot. LIKE like you. I adore snowstorms, and I’m quite keen on cold weather hiking. I love your sunsets, all lavender and peach and gold against the black lacework of bare branches. The winter holidays: Thanksgiving*, Christmas, New Year’s Eve. The joy of family gatherings, of fellowship, of shining a light into the seasonal darkness. The promise of January and new beginnings, however self-imposed they might be. Of February, because it’s the shortest of these cold and drear months, and it’s the subject of a fantastic Dar Williams song**. I love mulled cider, comfort foods, curling up by the wood stove with a kitty on my feet and a book in my hands. Seasonal music, twinkle lights, the expectation of spring to come: all good things.

What I am less than fond of, however, is what you do to my body. First hint of a chill and my hips and belly are all, “Whoa! Hard times a’coming! We’ll just hold onto every single bit of everything. No need to thank me. Carry on.”

I don’t need the extra warmth: I can put on long underwear. I can go for a run (well, brisk walk/zombie shuffle). I can go to the library, which keeps its thermostat at a reasonable level. I can pile on extra kitties. I can up my strength training, which – let’s face it – I really need to do anyway. Please stop mucking with my metabolism. It’s disheartening and just plain mean.

Now. Let’s get back to pretty snow and Bailey’s spiked cocoa. Ta muchly.

wintertrees

*technically autumn, but its the gateway
**all hail Dar
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