Sunday, February 3, 2013


Winter lies heavy upon the landscape in my rural environment.  Ocher lawns, bare trees, and dead gray mums, the same ones that were a glorious blaze of yellow and purple just a few weeks back.

As in all things, it's the natural order—the changing seasons.

This puts me to mind of the effect  the changing seasons bring about in myself. Winter turns me into the hibernating bear (no growling though ).  I love being in my comfortable cave, I can stay there all winter, eating hearty soups, and corn bread, brownies with lots of pecans, and my mid-morning cup of hot tea.  Except when it snows.  I do like to prowl about with the Nikon when there's snow blanketing the fields and woods. Winter is also the time I devour books.  Freezing temperatures out side, and toasty warm inside says one thing—guilt free reading.

Now admit it, there's some guilt attached to lolling about in a comfy chair and reading one good book after another, staying in your jommies and snacking all day—it's so much fun, there should be a little guilt involved.  But since I know there'll be no visitors dropping by, and I'm sure not getting out in that nasty weather.  So—it's guilt free word wallowing for me.

There's benefits too. Word wallowing is not wasted time—after reading several good books or even several poorly written ones, I began to think about my own writing——so much so, that I can't concentrate on the book in hand.  When that starts to happen I know it's time to put the other books aside, and get back to my own writing.

January, February, and March are my cave time.  I've learned to throughly enjoy the snugging in.  There's even a tinge of regret when around the middle of February, I stand at the window and spot the first of the dandelions.  My face close to the cold window glass, I whisper, please spring, don't come too quickly—I'm not finished with winter yet.

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