It is hard to not feel a bit inadequate when a friend will schlep 4 miles for groceries when it’s 15 below, and my biggest concerns are where’s my Zhivago DVD, and do I have enough cloves to stud a lemon for a hot whiskey. That said, Winter is my favorite season — not as some endurance test, but as a time to heed nature’s insistence that we “lie low to the wall until the bitter weather passes over” (John O’Donohue).
Still, I had a first ever snowshoe hike this new year, even went birdwatching at Jay Cooke (saw just one lone chickadee). Maybe by next year I will be sufficiently inured, or enough shamed to go ice-sailing, or surfing off Stoney Point. Maybe. For now though, to suit my torpidity, next week’s theme will be “the great indoors.”
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