I’m all for the joys of living according to the seasons. This is one of the reasons I reside in New England after all, where summer is bountiful and green – albeit very short – Fall is gorgeous and full of appropriate decay, Winter is a big blur of gray & white with a heapin’ helpin’ of ice, and lovely Spring makes an entrance so fashionably late that sometimes it only shows up about 10 minutes before Summer.
But let’s be reasonable. About this time – the January Deep as I call it – I like to daydream a little about another – any other – time of year. Not enough to actually trek to Florida mind you, but enough to want to look at pictures of where I live when it’s sometime other than now. Because it becomes really difficult to remember what grass actually looks like, and to think of something other than death when you look outside. It’s nice to recall those warm weeks when you tackled projects like building a chicken coop, or a sand castle, or looked for vintage finds at an outdoor market. A time when you had more energy than it takes to eat soup beside a warm fire before heading to bed, exhausted.