Bears

Bears hibernate for the winter, why can't I? It's only natural. For one thing, I have a lot in common with bears. We're both mammals, right? We're both cuddly. We both enjoy delicious salmon. And who am I to turn down a good mauling now and then?

So I think to myself: why not hibernate? And so I have, both metaphorically and literally. It's not that I don't want to leave at times--but there's something to be said about remaining comfortably lethargic. Indoors is warm. Outdoors is cold. Easy decision.

I'm missing out, of course. For one thing, no one ever told me how fun snow shoeing is. Sure, it certainly doesn't SOUND fun--trotting around in icy mush with tennis rackets attached to your feet. But it's deceptive like that. Even the uphill, stuck-in-deep-snow, wheezing for breath, even that is exhilarating. When the day is just right, and the cold is just the right amount of cold, and there's just enough sun shining, and just enough white landscape--it's all just enough to make you regret the warmth and the comfort. It makes you want to emerge more often--stretch--take a look around. What's the sense of loving the outdoors all but 4 months of the year?

I thought this on Saturday after arriving home exhausted, chunks of snow still stuck to the bottom of my boots. By Monday, I'd forgotten about it. I had the day off and was determined to waste it, to claim the right of deserved relaxation. A few hours I spent attempting a Nocturne. The rest, shopping for an easy chair. I visited 6 different stores. It's amazing the great efforts I will go to in order to more comfortably do nothing.

This is the pace of winter. I have projects to poke at. I have started pottery again. I go out on the weekends, and some nights. But I never feel like myself until things finally start to melt. Until I can go to work with the sun up, and come home with it still in the sky. As if I have no more control than those patient tree buds. Or those cuddly, smelly bears.