Winter

The picture says it all (Thank you, Janet, and Country 100).  People are fed up with winter.  As the days get longer, and longer, and still it's cold and snow continues to pile up faster than it melts, frustration mounts.  

Everywhere, people have something to say.  "The winter of our discontent continues,"  I hear.  "God forgot to push the Spring button!"  still another ventures.  "I hope the next time we get together, there won't be any snow!" are another's parting words.  On Twitter:  If I see I sign of spring, I will get down on my knees in thanksgiving.  What?  Another "Travel Not Recommended" advisory?  People are afraid to venture out,  leery that good roads on the trip out might turn into horrendous roads on the trip back.

People have had enough.  They are shovelling out their own streets, and going to work in sandals and cardigans, no matter what the conditions, no matter what the consequences.  After all, the calendar says April.

Watching a heavy, low sky spew curtains of big snowflakes that plug up my driveway and street yet again on Sunday, I think that this could actually be picturesque in December, or January.  Now?  Well, it's a stretch.

Yes, I, too, am tired of the winter that will not end, and the beautiful long evenings that could be spent walking without the menace of a serious fall, or maybe even enjoying a warm fire on the patio.  I, too, am worried about a fast thaw and the threat of flooding.  I, too, think that in way too short a time, we'll be right back here, shovelling snow and worrying about the roads.

Even then, I can't help thinking, how did our ancestors manage interminable winters?  The vegetables they would have put away for winter would be just about gone.  They used sleds, and, later, stashed chains in the trunk of the car.   Their homes were not insulated to R 6.  They did not have 4-wheel drive SUV's with ESP systems and studded winter tires, or cellphones, or Internet, or satellite TV, or Netflix.  Heading South was expensive, and exclusive.

They managed.  How?  There's a lesson I can learn here.  Recalling Eckhart Tolle, I start to wonder. If they could not muster energy or enthusiasm for winter, all they were left with was acceptance.  That is my reminder to myself today.  After all, spring and summer (and winter, too, as far as that goes) are states of mind, present or absent no matter what the calendar might read.