I am sitting at the desk where I wrote The Graffito of Esmet. Not a very comfortable desk, but it is in a pleasant, sunny room and there is a window to my right (albeit looking across twenty feet of nondescript lawn at the side of the house my dentist uses for her office).
A couple days back we got about ten inches of snow. I true winter storm here in the first week of March. A very light, beautiful snow. It’s beauty, though, certainly didn’t make it any easier to clear.
The storm has been followed by a string of days sunny and much warmer than we are used to. The snow is melting quickly. Spring seems to be lurking around the corner. A good thing that.
Winter never used to bother me much. But it seems each year my tolerance for the dark and the cold gets less and less. There were a number of days when I left work, bundled up properly, not able to get warm. No, it was worse than that. The cold just seemed to knife through all the layers. I swear there were times I was close to tears I was so miserable. Now, granted, invariably these days were windy. I went out to shovel a couple days ago after the snow and the temperature outside was five degrees. But the air was still and the sun was shining. That felt positively wonderful.
Since the Super Bowl, I haven’t picked my camera up much and I really miss that. I’ve found having the creative outlet really does me good. I resolve to be out and about with my camera much more as the temperatures get warmer. Not only that, I resolve to break out my photography books and study my art (I’ll allow my self some pretentiousness today).