I have always loved winter. I love bundling up, seeing my own puffs of breath, watching snow fall from the sky. But this winter is testing us all. It's been particularly cold and, well, weather-filled. And there's this collective exasperation, this ongoing banter the gist of which is enough is enough and I've participated in this chatter, but I had a few moments this weekend when I realized that I quite love Mother Nature even when she's a bit heavy-handed.
We took a taxi cab to the East Side to attend a dinner party on Saturday evening. It had been snowing for hours and the streets were messy. Our driver was cautious and our trip was slow. And I just sunk into the seat and looked out and realized how beautiful this city is. There were these fat drops of condensation on the window and they looked metallic and I felt this sense of affection, of wonder, of gratitude. Maybe it's good to slow down, to be slowed down, to be at the mercy of something bigger - and better - than our own agendas.
And the way home didn't disappoint either. I looked out. At the blur of big city lights, at the cold and rainy aftermath of a snowy Saturday and I took pictures and I looked at them and it was all just a gorgeous, chaotic confetti portrait.
And yesterday morning, I woke up early with the girls. They puttered on their beloved iPads and I looked out at our garden. It was a shoebox wonderland of sorts, white snow clinging to branches and I felt an overwhelming sense of peace, of being part of the world.
Am I jonesing for spring? Yes, a bit. But I am also realizing that there is a majesty in not rushing the seasons of our lives even if they feel a bit rough and tumble and cold and old.
Happy Monday, guys.
What's the weather like where you are?
Do you love seasons?
How much snow is too much snow?