Contemplative Vista - Winter

I didn’t take this one. It’s a sample picture from my PC, but I never knew I had it before I went looking for something to put up.

I love winter. I will deny that statement in a month or so after I’ve spent an hour digging my car out of the snow, but for now, on a blustery Friday with fluffy gray clouds threatening to dump winter all over the tri-state area, I can say with much certainty that I really do prefer winter to summer.

Part of the reason is, I like to hibernate. I like hanging out inside. That’s bad, I know. I have a huge back yard and each year I spend less time in it. I feel guilty about not liking to go outside as much as I used to and I still give my DH grief about his own preference for indoor activities as opposed to outdoor. Maybe it stems from the fact that the outdoors seem not to like me anymore.

I hate the heat. I burn easily. I can’t stand brilliant sunlight, [sensitive eyes], I have a brown thumb. My attempts at gardening turn out more like sadistic science experiments with plants. My war on weeds is somewhat of a joke and I despise bugs. As soon as spring begins each year, the battles start. Ants invade, mosquitoes bloom, weeds pop up in abundance where flowers were planted previously. This year I had to tear out several dead bushes from my front yard, the lack of rain killed the lawn, which has been replaced by weeds. [At least they’re green weeds.] None of the flowers I planted in flower pots grew at all, my attempt to patch up the grass in the side yard failed miserably. I battled biting flies and spiders on my patio and our pool developed a leak two days after we winterized it which defies comprehension, but that’s beside the point.

In the winter, I don’t have to worry about this stuff. I don’t have to rake leaves, I don’t have to pull weeds, spray for ants, dodge dive bombing mosquitoes or track down mysterious odors [the year of the dead ground hogs is a memory best left buried.] I may have to shovel snow, but I don’t have to worry that my lawn isn’t getting enough water, or too much water and everyone’s house looks the same – draped in a blanket of snow and decorated with real [not artificially lit] icicles. I don’t have to feel guilty about hanging out in the house, reading, writing or just relaxing. I don’t feel the need to start an exercise regime that includes brisk walks in the park, or long leisurely bike rides. The basement doesn’t flood.

I love winter. Check back with me in late February though, and I might be singing a different tune.