With daylight savings time coming to a close, we find ourselves thrust once again into nights that seem to fall all too soon. I’m not a big fan of leaving my desk job at the pretty standard 5pm and not getting home from my 45-minute commute before it’s pitch black out. There’s something deeply uncomfortable about the pressing darkness and the wordless threat of winter.
I may have blankets and tea and warm leggings aplenty to keep me comfortable, but I never really look forward to winter. Not like I used to. Not anymore.
I think it comes down to snow. Something that beautiful and magical should be wondrous and worth looking forward to – and as a child, it absolutely was. But now? Now I have to shovel the stuff and worry that a blizzard will knock out the power and force me to somehow find warm shelter for me and my birds.
Snow isn’t magical anymore; it’s a menacing reminder of the responsibilities that I have to three helpless little souls who need me. And if that isn’t a metaphor for adulthood, I don’t know what is. What was once wondrous is now just another burden as we can peer behind the curtain of what keeps an orderly life chugging along.
So, horrible grinch that I am, I hope for no snow this winter (or maybe just a light dusting or two). But I certainly am looking forward to hot cocoa. I guess it’s a trade-off that I’ll have to learn to live with.