Winter

The tired boy sulks through the studio.  Good mornings are exchanged with the same grunts as yesterday.  Perhaps, if it was a fresh spring morning and we had slept with our windows opened, our rise and shines would be like the song of the morning birds.  Chirpy.

Instead, we have winter.  That time of year where it is crisp and sharp.  The cold winds snap at our exposed skin leaving behind red imprints, the proof of its existence.  The little tornadoes of snow as a brisk breeze passes by.  The cracking of the old farm house as it shivers to keep us warm.  Birds fighting for the precious seeds at the feeder.  All proof that winter is with us.

Driveways and roadways are impassable; they make for a desolate atmosphere and the lack of sky only adds to it.  Bundled up we head into the grey February day.  We trudge along as we climb frozen hills and stop at different times to take in the view of swirling snow all around us.  The snows sting our faces as we make our way to build forts in the old pasture.  The drifts bury us with frozen excitement over their depths.  Brief moments of reprieve from the gales as we huddle in our make shift fort.

The ten-year-old boy loves to roll down the hills only to scream with sunny delight, “AGAIN!” as he jumps up all laced in white.  We cross the pasture with frosty breath and decide this would be a good time to trek back across our frozen farm and head into the warmth of our home.  There is a murmur over wet frosty scarves of hot chocolate.

Even if we are starting our winter mornings with cool starts to our days, there is the promise of an adventure to be had in the frozen acres of our farm.  Like my sisters and brothers say in Norway, there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes.