The truth is, I love winter (and as I write, we are in the middle of another in a series of January snow storms). I love the coziness about it, and the fact that it gives me an excuse to stay inside all day, holed up, focusing on various work-related or creative projects pertaining to photography or music, or reorganizing a closet, or remodeling or rearranging something or other, or catching up on paper work or a sewing project; general nesting. The cozy, indoor-centered winter is a kind of hibernation for me - not the sleeping kind of hibernation that bears do in caves, but the tending to the home-fires kind of rest that grounds me and replenishes my soul. I would never want to live in a part of the world where there is no winter, and I grow weary of the constant, collective complaining about snow and cold. I love it - the frigid air feels good on my cheeks and wakes my brain up - and snow is still magic to me. I love waking up in the morning in the dark, and I also love the dark that closes in on us in the early evening, drawing people together around a table under the glow of lamp light. In fact, I enjoy winter so much that this time of year, when the days start growing longer (at the rate of about one minute per day; it is now still light at 4:45, compared to being dark at 4:00 back in December), I find myself thinking, wait -slow down; I'm not quite finished with my winter's rest - because I know what comes next: the frenetic scurrying; the turning to all things outward and out-of-doors and busy-ness and people and schedules.
Yes, I do love this slow and dark and inward-turning time.