Winter

I miss winter. Winter in places where it’s really winter, anyway. Winter should be snow in drifts you could lose small people in. Winter should be bone-chilling winds that the best coats and hats can’t keep out. Winter should mean every body of water being hidden beneath an icy blanket for 4 months. Winter’s should mean storms where you could lose an elephant if it strayed more than 6 inches away from you. Winter should mean something.
Here winter tends to mean being careful not to slip in the slush.

I love this above picture, (taken by Michael Tinkler). A boathouse on the campus in my hometown. It’s frozen in, with ice extending probably 40 or 50 feet out from the shore, on this massive 42 mile long lake. The water is choppy and steaming, although it’s hard not to think of it as some dry ice or liquid nitrogen gas release. And of course, the sun beats down perfectly clearly, not making the least noticeable difference in the temperature.
Nature will have its way whenever it feels like it.
Hard to believe I used to sit on a bench in that exact spot, during the summer, reading. (Or, when I was even younger, watching with my friend, as college co-eds made out on the dock).
It’s really not the same, but a recent cold snap here in DC froze over much of the Potomac. You can see the unending field of snow in the picture below, leading to the foot of the Jefferson Memorial. The snow of course is just dusting the sheet of ice that buried the Tidal Basin.