Baby it’s Cold Outside

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I want to walk, run, skip, hop along outside … but shivering is about all I can do in this winter weather. I long to be outside digging in my garden, being warmed by the sunshine and breaking into a healthy sweat. I want to go barefoot. I want to sip my coffee on the deck and listen to the birds bring night into day. I want to stroll through my garden and stop to weed a patch or two. I want to sit on the porch in the evening and see the leaf shadows on the porch columns. I want to chase lightning bugs. I want to eat watermelon and cantaloupe and strawberries and blueberries and peaches … as much as I want. I want to travel to the Grand Strand and let the salt air cure my every ill. But I can’t … not on the last day of January.

I’m inside today reading by the fire and washing yet another load of clothes. I am continuing with my fast from sugar, chocolate, and bread, yet I am daydreaming of making some warm peach cobbler muffins, my own recipe, for supper. Wouldn’t that be deelicious?

Dear Lord, forgive me for wanting weather I don’t have and not enjoying the rest that comes with winter hibernation. I am so blessed to be in the South, where our cold weather doesn’t come with months of gray skies and mounds of dirty snow piled up on either side of the street. Thank You for the seasons which bring variety and anticipation. Thank You for the seasonal fruits and vegetables that sustain and delight our palates. You know what I need; You know what I want; You know I must wait and savor each shiver, snooze, and chill. Bless You for Your Goodness, Father, and Your patience with me.  Amen

 

He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter…. In winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity. ~John Burroughs, “The Snow-Walkers,” 1866

 

Winter is a time of promise because there is so little to do — or because you can now and then permit yourself the luxury of thinking so. ~Stanley Crawford, A Garlic Testament: Seasons on a Small New Mexico Farm, 1992

 

The color of springtime is in the flowers; the color of winter is in the imagination. ~Terri Guillemets

 

 

 

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