Winter’s Charm
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A few of my favorite wintry things:
The swoosh of my cross country skis as they sail along on heaps of powder; the towering Engelman spruce with their lofty snowy hats and puffy snowy sleeves that bestow water for my kids, who occasionally drag their tongues along them as we ski by; my terrier, Harriet, in her prissy pink sweater, tearing ferociously after ground squirrels and chipmunks.
Lest you think it’s all about skiing, it’s also the way my foot slides into a boot that fits just so; it’s friends with woodstoves and crackling logs; it’s the crunch and squeak of snow under my new, miraculous Finnish snowtires. It’s bustling, cheery, hollering holiday crowds; it’s avoiding bustling, cheery, hollering holiday crowds. It’s a fleece blanket. It’s vanilla spice. It’s making tea bread studded with whole, fresh cranberries.
It’s the white etched on the blue.
Which brings me back to skiing: the way my sharp exhalations shape my hair into spidery ice webs; when it’s so cold the air cracks and gives my body a new energy to move. The energy that comes only when it’s this cold; it gets me the same as the sizzle on my skin in the summertime. It is aliveness and power.
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