Dear Winter, Without your austerity, your bare branches, your wind chill, how would we appreciate the warm things of this world? Candles that smell like a wood fire in a Maine cottage. Dinner in a bowl, crowned with a delicate wreath of steam: split-pea soup with smokey ham; blue-collar beef barley with a beer; mussels in white wine broth with a side of frites. Soft thick socks in bed. Showstopping sunsets that say, “I’m ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille.” Cars with seat warmers and space heaters tucked under desks. Putting on pajamas straight from the dryer. Warm-blooded, true-hearted dogs and cats that lie on our feet at the foot of the bed, purring and furring us to sleep. Our fire pits and fondue pots, fleece and flannel sing the antiphon to frozen pipes and snow flurries in a psalm of praise to winter. XOXO Nikki
