The coldest winter I can remember, and days when it snows are actually warmer.
This is how we dress to go out, and suddenly everything is an adventure, like climbing Mt. Everest, except we are only going to a movie, or the grocery store.
The world is transformed–magical under the fallen snow, or bitter and harsh as the air and ground freeze–but strange and unfamiliar, either way. Bird houses wear ridiculous hats.
I try to keep positive, but the inversion is getting to me, bringing inner darkness and a deep sense of unease. I’ve always prided myself on bravely facing Winter, booted and gloved, like a challenge, or a chance for me to prove my inner strength and character.
This year, I find myself wanting to curl in, tuck my feet up under myself, and implode.