Winter has always been my favorite season. The silence, the stillness, the strange brightness of a night full of snow and stars, all these things have always made winter feel like a secret, and I’ve never understood those who dreaded its arrival.
Until this year. This year, winter was a smothering gloom I struggled and struggled to get through. As happy to be at home and in my head as I always am, months nine through twelve of the pandemic wore me down to the nub and made the world dark.
But now, with temperatures jumping high enough, fast enough to make the sap in the maples stop flowing as soon as it’s begun (very much a bad thing to be sure), I’m happy to drink in the light—and to see others doing the same—when I go out to walk by the road in the shallow mud left behind by the receding snow.
Also the geese are back, and they feel as much like a miracle as ever.