This time last week we were in South Carolina, pushing the comfort limits by walking barefoot on the beach and enjoying a Bloody Mary on “our” deck. The spectacular sunrise on our 20th wedding anniversary set the tone for the whole day.
We haven’t seen the sun since then, at least not since we came north, other than fleeting peek-a-boo glimpses. It’s been grey and wintry and blah, flat light barely illuminating stark bare branches and desolate outdoor spaces.
This morning it’s freezing cold, cold enough that the snow from yesterday has frozen and crunches when a dog walks on it (I refuse to go outside.) But the sun is out, casting shadows and lending depth to the scenery.
I’m not a fan of the cold, not remotely. Give me heat to slow down in, heat to curl my hair. Heat to strip clothes off and dance in my underwear.
If it has to be cold, then sunshine helps. I can studiously ignore the snow on the ground and believe the warmth will come again, particularly when my hands are wrapped around a cup of steaming coffee.
Sun makes me feel like a badass.