The stark grey sky outside my living room window is silhouetted by moisture-blacked branches; both blizzards have bypassed us, leaving only ice and freezing rain in their wake. It is a dreary scene that will be remedied with the arrival of spring.
I love every season, but winter brings with it a penetrating reality unfettered by warmth and leaves. The world is crunchy, a perilous environment with a seemingly brittle coating. It ranks all men as equals despite their social or economic status. A naked Obama running swimming in the snow is just as prone to die from exposure as a naked factory worker. The difference, of course, is the ease in spotting Obama: he’s the one surrounded by five or six naked Secret Service agents.
Today is Ice. The weather moved in yesterday morning, set out before noon, and then the temperatures dropped. All that charming, pliable slush became reflective rivers. The encased streets were rather treacherous. This is the sort of weather that one enjoys from home, in a clean house, with the kettle on and a warm blanket draped across the lap.