life, in pink

If it is nearly freezing outside and you come across a rose bush still in bloom, you pause and marvel at the mere incongruity of it, of that tattered flower, and you think (even if it is about to be the dreariest of months) – there will be blooms in the days ahead. Surely there will be blooms!



Only, they’ll be few and far between.

People seem tired in November (with the exception of the first of the month, when they are post-Halloween hyper.)

I’m not especially heading into it tired, but I am a little discouraged at how quicky I'm finding it to be unpleasantly cold and dark out there. These, to me, are the most unpleasant aspects of the early winter months.

But I am remembering a valuable lesson from last winter. On the coldest of February week-ends, I found myself up north, in Quebec. There, I could observe firsthand how the Quebecois embrace their unrelenting cold climate. Instead of hiding from an Arctic blast, they are out there jumping off cliffs on gliders, climbing up ice walls and lacing up skates. Forget the indoor arena: take out your blades and glide in the icy winds!

So this year I am vowing to embrace the dreary dark months of early winter. That’ll be me, extending my walk to and from work, flying out the door in spite of, nay, because of the piercing cold wetness that hits your skin then quickly finds the shortest route to the bone.

And because immersing myself in even more dreariness will only work to overcome my antipathy to it, I’ll head out toward places that are even drearier, darker and colder than Madison at this time of the year. Imagine, there are such places.

Welcome, November, December… God, you are such a challenge.