Winter is about hibernating indoors, under blankets, with a cup of warm cocoa in hand as the oven bakes delectable goodness.
It should be noted, also, that there is either music playing (Christmas carols?) or a movie playing while all of this is going on.
If it is the former, a book occupies the free hand and a fire is roaring nearby.
If one dares venture outside, one is greeted with unequivocal beauty, as with any season.
Winter is a season of glitter, ice crystals, fat lazy snowflakes, and skeletal trees.
(One must be quick to witness this beauty, though, for it is fleeting and quickly replaced with the dormant browns and yellows of a sleeping earth.)
The last few years, I have come to appreciate the beauty of this season.
I still hate being cold, but I understand that winter's cold must balance summer's heat. Before, winter was nothing more than surviving the {brisk} walk to the car, darkness, and hiding inside.
But, now, I have reasons to venture outside: the fog as it creeps in along the valley floor at night, the twinkle of frost in the early morning, the Impressionist-style skies...
It is my mission, and my pleasure, to immemorialize the beauty of each season, and winter is no exception.
