The cold has returned here, with a vengeance. Not forecasted to rise above 55 F or so all week. For some of you, I'm sure that's pitiful in terms of chill factors, but for us down here in the deep south, it's a regular ice box. Only Saturday we saw highs in the upper 70's. All of the plants here had begun to spout, and people were out in shorts. It's a bit jarring to go from that to 35 F in less than 24 hrs.

Winter here is interesting, in that it is less of a time of sleep and snow and more of a constant battle between the cold and the warm. We are on the front lines of the War of Seasons - an ongoing conflict that leaves us with yo-yoing temperatures and confused flora. In any case, I am happy for the Spring-like days, and I get through the cold ones with a nice fire and layers of warm fuzzy clothing.

I was thinking about these things yesterday, about the way the world looks and feels in winter versus summer. I've decided that the differences I feel viscerally are actually due to the quality of the light. In the summertime, the sunlight is warm, golden-colored, and covers the world in a rich, thick layer of heat. In the winter the sunlight is thinned, pale, a shimmer that skitters off the surface of things without really supplying any warmth. The blue sky in summer feels like an aquamarine tropical sea, but in winter it turns into hard blue plastic, unforgiving in its vastness.

I guess its obvious that I have a bias towards summer. I know that's true. I am a girl of the Southern climes, and though I sometimes think about what it would be like to live in a place where the politics are further left and the seasons are defined and specific, I imagine I will remain. It seems to suit me.

12 January 2009


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