Winter Blues

I don't live in Boston.  I'm a southern girl.  That's why I can honestly say I am mourning the passing of winter.  Sleeping in under quilts so heavy it's hard to turn over.  Scarves and hats to hide bad hair days and sagging necks.  Crackling fires in coffee shops, where we turn our chairs to avoid the draft from the door and customers keep their coats on just a little longer.

Hearty stews and soups simmer in crockpots all day, their scent like perfume, sticks to my sweater.  Anything baking in the oven, invites warmth and winter appetites.  Carbs are a staple at every meal.

Trees bare their souls, majestic and strong against winter skies, donning the occasional white for a striking silhouette.

Snow in the south causes pause.  Everything shuts down.  We slow down.  Yes, even more. We have to stop and enjoy this white magic, because its visits are rare and quick.  Walks in white powder. Snow quiet.  Nothing like it.  Houses and yards covered in  white frosting, hiding dead gardens and stained roofs. Books and coffee welcome us under blankets inside.

Tomorrow is the first day of spring.  I can't stop it or change it.  Birds are nesting.  Daffodils are blooming.  I like spring too, but in the south, summer chases it away much too quickly.

So Boston, while you welcome the slow melt of parking lot glaciers, I'll mourn winter.  Maybe I'll have to fire up the grill, brew some iced tea and watch the trees bud to chase my blues.
 Now....for just a little while.