The only way I’ve found to love winter, is to embrace winter. Launch your ass out into the snow and exhaust yourself . Glide over packed trails until breath clouds, lungs burn and cheeks sting.
Then, and only then, exhausted and cold and perhaps a little wet, can you return to said cabin and feel the bliss of the warmth of the fire or the gas heater or the soup or tea. Then the shower, perhaps a nap. Curl up with your kitty and read. Then and only then can winter really be appreciated.
This is my silent cheer upon waking, when, with eyes closed I had dreamed of driving somewhere warmer and walking on desert rocks. Even cold desert rocks seemed better than this white world. But eyes opened, and snow was falling, and I had to face this season.
People go to the ski area. They drive through this storm, unafraid, slowly with strong tires and ski all day. But they have eachother. Their packs of pre-planned friends and families. And (sorry to whine) I am alone. My son is away for the weekend, I have no partner or husband or said romantic person to supposedly make life feel a bit warmer. (Although even my hitched up friends say they are lonely this time of year). Just me and the madness of the cabin.
And so I paint pink flowers paintings and bejewel them with mica and irridenscent gold. Anything to make the world feel warmer today.