Winter friends — those who, contrary to all hedonic and circadian sense, love dark days and black ice — have been forwarding the story to me, triumphant, as if once and for all it’s been settled, the pointless, perennial battle of the seasons.
Everyone just wants to feel better, I get it, but resisting their campaign is a twisted part of coping with the season.
I spent the week exchanging snapshots with friends in Mississippi, their mutt cavorting in the snow-covered yard (look how cozy!
Another friend asked if I didn’t find the cold and snowfall moody and melancholy, in a good way.
It’s a case that the poets have been making for eons: “Barren winter, with his wrathful nipping cold,” Shakespeare wrote.
Persons:
Steven Kurutz’s, mutt cavorting, ”, Stu, Roz Chast’s, Shakespeare, what’s
Locations:
Mississippi, New