No, give us winter days with branches bare and deeper views. Icy fronds and trees unrobed, creeks that rise to meet the lashing rain. Then when the thermometer falls, an ermine coat of snow overs meadow, rock and field pristine and wild.
The beauty of winter is thrilling, and unexpected. Nothing fragile but the crunchy thin layer of ice; we can hear the world beneath. No soft edges here, no lilacs, bowing tulips or summer grasses. No carpet thick with leaves.
Instead, we find birds that over-winter: the purple finch, the woodpecker drilling the leafless Dogwood and fully dressed holly. A tableau sinister, some might say with midwinter shivers as wind and water whirl. Some might say the day is gray as stone and just as hard, needing a fresh spring breeze (which I like too) or summer's heat or autumn's cool reprieve.
But here's the thing: there's wonder in winter, and color too. Red berries of holly and blue of cedar. Shiny green leaves of the holly and yew. Wet moss like a jewel. Red-leafed nandinas dripping vermilion. Long-leaf pinecones and Sugar Pine. The glitter of ice on the highest of branches where mistletoe rests.
There are badgers and foxes, hedgehogs and squirrels. Deer in their heavy coats forage for food. Owls out at dusk carry dinner in their talons while hawks sit on fences alert. Geese overhead noisily seek a pond to roost; what could be safer?
So no, midwinter is not to be hurried or survived. It's too unrestrained and exhilarating for that. It is to be savored like every season, every moment of every day. The long shadows of the brief winter sun are a signal that one winter day is closing, and its counterpart will begin. We can light our fires, pour our drinks, stir our pots, embrace our loved ones and settle in for the sounds of the winter night. Oh my.
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