I know it’s technically spring, but my down coat still hangs front and center in my closet; I dare not put away my snow boots or pack up the hats and gloves. Many have groaned and sighed at the beating we took this winter. We may not have had storms that packed the punch of those belonging to snowmaggedon, but the season was long and bitter and won’t soon be forgot.
I loved it.
Sure, I rolled my eyes in sympathy with the complainers, commiserated with the cold and weary. But I had my fingers crossed behind my back as tightly as the scarf was wound around my neck.
Winter is the most romantic season of all. And while I spent it alone, there’s nothing like wind chills in the single digits and a fire roaring in the fire place to inspire great writing. I haven’t exactly been the most social being the last four months. Winter exacerbated my reserve, and writing gave me something productive to do behind closed doors (sometimes under piles of blankets). Now I get why there are so many great Russian writers.
Perhaps my favorite day this winter came just before spring officially came on the books. The St. Patrick’s Day storm lived up to the hype, dropping nine inches in our town, closing the federal government and schools. (As a sole proprietor, I follow whatever closing decision is most advantageous to my needs.) My dear friends hosted happy hour. Outside. In their backyard. A fire blazed in the fire pit. Snowbanks kept our Guinness and wine cold. We bundled up and sat close, making the most of what we could not control. I felt truly social for the first time since December, huddled over a fire as the snow fell and kids sledded nearby. I wanted that night to never end.
I’m out of tights. Open-toed shoes are waiting in the closet. It feels awkward to wear a black sweater in mid-April. (Easter dress, schmeaster dress.) My down coat really does need a turn in the washing machine and my wool coats are ready for dry cleaning. My yard is happily popping with tulips and daffodils and I would like to open the windows, but I’m sad to see the winter go. This winter was made glorious summer by my embracing its chilly offerings.