I'm not sure why, but as I sit here in my cotton summer dress, skin still warm from this morning's farmer's market, all I can think about is winter. The mountain sides surrounding this little town are emerald green with new growth and the summer festivities are in full swing. Patios are open, burgers are grilling, and lawn mowers are trimming. My head lately is swirling with ideas, to-do lists, social agenda's, and the energy that new season's bring. Somehow though, in the midst of all the excitement, my mind lands on winter and the quiet that it holds. I yearn for the stillness of a January night, the warmth of bourbon on my throat, the slowness associated with bread rising, snow gently accumulating, soup simmering, and thoughts that are able to marinate quietly in the back of my mind, never rushed into fruition.
Don't get me wrong; I'm thankful for the sunshine. I just felt the need to officially acknowledge what was, before I could fully dive into what has become. This winter was kind to me. And for this, I am grateful.
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