For so many years, I lived and worked in a major city. I spent a good deal of time negotiating expressways. One wintery evening I was weaving through urban traffic while listening to the Fine Arts station. An author was being interviewed. She had recently published a volume of poetry that praised the wisdom of the seasons. There was a question about Winter. She patiently explained that in the city, Winter is a hardship because we feel the need to keep to the same schedules and have the same expectations that we have the rest of the year. As often as not our experience and our expectations do not meet and we are disappointed. In the country however, there is this pause. You might call it a seasonal palette cleanser. Winter is a silent, peaceful time when the land rests. The beasts rest, and so too does man.
It would be years before I packed up my urban studio and moved to the country, but since that very first Winter I knew she had been right. There are no more salty curbside puddles of gray slush in my world. I am surrounded by monochromatic splendor. I embrace Winter like a dear friend whose visit I have eagerly awaited. We sit together, close to the fire in the evenings, and take our rest.
