White weather and the chill of winter is all cute and nostalgic.
It's so invigorating and full of the life we so love in this region, that changing of seasons, the coming and going of life. That thought of trouncing through the snow, putting your hand in the whiteness, drawing in the wood for the fire like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting. A walk with the dog or a short hunt in the cold morning hours waiting for that Buck or that duck to come about and be dinner. The glitter and glint of the lights of man on the snow peaked houses and trees like that of a Kincade masterpiece. Winter, so cold, and so welcome, a time for families to drift cozy into warm beds after a day's fun in the outdoors. Old men recall harsher winters and and in a melancholy fashion scold the young with their tales of hard winters of old.
A walk on a frozen beach, a look at a frozen meadow. Beyond compare.
So many wondrous bits of essence, so much of nature's art lie before us in the thing that is winter, the white, the cold, the stillness. Beyond compare.
Screw all that crap. My fuel bills suck! Shove Jersey winters up the old bunghole for all I care.
g.
