The pond has iced over. It was 19° when I went for my walk this morning, overdressed as I usually am the first days out in frigid cold, testing the change. Winter is arriving, if not arrived. It’s my least favorite of the four seasons. The cold, the wind, the snow, the ice. What’s to like? I suppose Scotch. Scotch tastes better the colder it is outside, going down warmer than coffee or tea or chocolate, maybe warmer than a fire. But then what can beat a dram of Scotch next to a warm fire? On this side of winter, the next four months do not bode well. There will be snow to shovel, ice to break, batteries to jump. Winter covers the soul with a hard white blanket of bleak.
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