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.
**all hail Dar