When I was a kid, I loved winter. Our house sat at the top of a hill, and our back yard sloped on two sides into a bowl—perfect for sledding. Feet stuffed into bread bags to stay dry, we flew downhill on plastic saucers and metal runners. We’d troop into the house for hot chocolate as our mittens and hats tumbled in the dryer before heading out into the snow again.
As an adult, I hate winter. I still love snow … but we seem to have less of it than I remember from my childhood. Winter now seems an endless slog of gray skies and rain. Hell, in my mind, isn’t fire and brimstone. Hell will be cold and damp.
Grizzly, our miniature bull terrier, isn’t a fan of winter either. He’s made for temperate weather, but he loves to be outside. The rest of the year, he’ll spend hours in the yard or on the back deck, watching the woods for critters and the road for cyclists, joggers and dog-walkers. Not being able to spend time outside, he and I huddle on the couch under a layer of fleece blankets and commiserating in our winter blues.
But the early daffodils and irises in my flower beds are already sending up green shoots through the leaf litter, reminding me that spring—while many weeks away—will return. Grizzly brings his beloved Kong tennis ball to the edge of the couch for me to toss around the living room, and for a little while we pretend that we’re out in the yard, surrounded by greenery and caressed by sunshine.
January 25, 2023
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