Winter

The cold is like a backyard bully, inescapable, tormenting. The wind cuts through to my soul, leaving me jagged and tense, desperate for warmth. It's difficult to want to go anywhere - it's simply too cold to go out.

I like to watch the sky in the mornings. The kids are usually rambling around, getting their things together, breakfast simmering, and in the midst of the process of starting my day, I look up and catch a glimpse of the morning through my window. It lures me to the window, tells me to look, dares me to step outside. I stand at my window, warm air blowing up through the register, in awed amazement.

I know nothing about how temperature affects sunrise but I do know what I've seen; skies abandoned to an explosion of color. Shocking hues of pink, orange and purple trumpeting the mornings, announcing the arrival of yet another frigid day. The sky seems almost too real, too sharp, too clear, like the morning was chiseled out of something that doesn't belong in our sky.

We dress in layers. We zip our coats up to the top, hoping the wind can't find a way in. We build fire in the wood stove at night and settle in to watch the Andy Griffith show. I've been drinking a lot of tea and delighting in hot showers before I dash from the heat of the bathroom to the cool of my bed, curling up beside Farmer Boy for the night.

Winter.

We say we hate the cold, the wind, winter. We talk about vacations on white sandy beaches, with crystal blue water, fruity drinks with little umbrellas stuck in them. We wish we didn't have to bundle up every time we gather up the courage to step outside. There are boots, hats, mitts, scarves and of course big bulky winter coats with fur-trimmed hoods.

Winter.

It's harsh and inconvenient. It's wind that blows across the prairie, unstoppable, until it slams into my chest, stealing my breath. It's nights at home around the fire. It's family time, everyone bundled up in a blanket. It's soup, stew, tea and hot cocoa. It's a sky, given over to the glory of a new day.

Winter.