You, with your dark, bitter mornings. With your plaster-grey skies. You, with your hollow, lonely winds. And your early snows. And rain that comes down as ice. You, with your bare branched trees and frost-wilted gardens. You, with your lack of humor. Your sudden dusk in the middle of the afternoon. Your bitter, cold shoulder on a Monday morning.
Everything about you seems calculated to push me to the edge of despair. What is there about you to rejoice in?
I can tell you.
Wild turkeys grazing the brown fields.
Sudden blue skies in the middle of an angry afternoon.
Red rose hips popping bright against brown branches.
Deep orange squashes, baked soft and mixed with maple syrup.
The dog sleeping deeply beside the glowing fire.
A star-sequined sky.
The small, quiet singing in my heart when the sun glances through the window and finds me.