darkest before the dawn

When I came home today, I stood in the yard for a moment, schoolbag on my back. I live in the middle of the woods, and there's always something special about when the snow is hanging off the branches. It is cold and quiet and white and my cat always takes great pleasure in rubbing against my legs for a moment until I bend down far enough for her to hop up on my schoolbag or shoulder. The winter is hard on her; she curls up and sleeps for hours, even more than usual, and although she is always happy to see me she is especially glad for me in these cold months. She snuggles into my neck like a scarf and when I look out at the yard, I am excited for spring and then summer and then fall. I do not profess to love winter. In fact, I feel quite the opposite. However, if winter is what I have to live through to get to the times I love most, I am glad I can find at least passing beauty in its chill.

The cat whines when I put her down, flopping over in a display that I know is meant to attract a bit more attention, and, like always, it works. I laugh and scratch her stomach and then the top of her head, though she doesn't get the same enjoyment out of it that she would were I not wearing gloves, and with a shiver, I walk into the warmth and away from winter, almost wishing I could hibernate the season away.