There is no joking about Winter this year. It's reminiscent of my childhood in Minnesota, mostly. Flakes daily, fluffy and puffy. So much white. I wonder how to see anything with so little contrast. How would I paint it? Trees stand out amidst the white sky and fields as I follow trails groomed through the golf course. Where am I going on my cross country skis? In circles, on an 8km track. Little Germans pass by, compact muscular legs, serious in their skiing, not stopping to ponder the lack of color in the world, or the build up of flakes in their hair, making it appear red and fuzzy at the same time. They are fastidious in their exercise, winter or summer. It's interesting, and different, and I am not sure if I will miss it or not next year when I leave.
What I do know is that I've found pleasure in the whiteness, the watching, the peace of winter. Whether it's sitting in front of my window watching the cold precipitation flurry around outside, or driving on the snow shaded roads, or sliding through the snow on my red skis which I noticed today form hearts at the tips where the snow sticks and builds up. I have found my my heart again this winter and I have found winter in my heart.
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