Die, winter, die!!


By all accounts, it’s been a tough winter.

First we had a near-record-setting Snowpocalypse. Then we endured Snowmaggedon—several waves of smaller storms—which raged for three months and rendered my back yard nearly impassible.

So when I woke up to snow this morning I was dejected. And the forecast didn’t look much better …

I decided to call my friend Mo in Paris; he never fails to cheer me up. He was walking as we chatted, and I followed his path with my mind’s eye. Montparnasse … north past Notre Dame des Champs … to the Luxembourg gardens.

“Il fait très beau,” Mo reported. He described the bright sun, the birds’ song, the children laughing and playing in the park. Sigh.

But instead of brooding, I decided to make the best of it. So shortly after sunrise I headed out for a walk. The wind was raw and the snowflakes stung my cheeks, but I saw some small, welcome signs of spring.

Every year, it seems miraculous to me that such tiny, fragile things can survive our winters—and then emerge from the frozen ground.

I cut my meditation short, though: I had a coffee date with my friend Uta. Prospect Park’s water tower looked even more ominous and brooding than usual under the slate-gray skies.

But after an hour or two of chatting by the fire, I’d forgotten my winter’s malaise.

Still … I’m ready for spring. Die, winter, die!

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