We deal with the seasons. We not only "deal," but we thrive where we can. We watch the snow swirl and move outside. We make hot toddies and curate our Netflix lists. We collect recipes for soup and listen to records. We drop-kick vanity to favor practicality in the form of sturdy boots, knit hats, puffy coats.
We're all in it together.
The snow swirls and blows as it falls but eventually it stops.
When the swirling stops we put on our layers of practicality and venture out. We soak up the sun (our faces are the only skin exposed to drink it in) and stomp around in the snow. Pure snow leads to pure sand as we go to the same place where only months before we ran around with exposed knees and shoulders, cursing the humidity.
So much changes in winter. It's a time to restore. It's a time for quiet. It's a time to watch and listen.
Like lots of Midwesterners I wonder "am I supposed to leave this cruel climate in favor of a place where the seasons aren't so severe and different?"
There are, after all, places where the seasons aren't so different from one another. Each season is a variation on some kind of assortment of sun-soaked days.
But winter comes for us. I'm glad it does. There's nothing quite like the crunch of fresh fallen snow and the crash of frigid freshwater. And when winter comes I will put on my practicalities and feel the sun on my face and fresh air in my lungs.
And I'll be happy, happy, happy.