After a relatively mild December and a milder January, mother nature had turned this side of the world into a winter wonderland even for just a day or two with just a couple of inches of snow in my place in Southeast Michigan compared to what the northern part of the state where at least 8- 10 inches deep of soft and white snow have marked the landscape.
But this is not Colorado, that skier’s paradise were the cold and the snow were at its best for a real winter blast. This is Michigan where the weather could turn nasty at any time of the day.
The dreaded Michigan weather is now rearing its ugly head; there is very little snow but the wind chill is deadly hovering at minus 3 to minus 12 degrees centigrade where the cold wind would caress you and make you feel the thousand needles pricking your skin, boring deep down inside your body and gnawing into your bones.
That’s how cold Michigan is, nowadays. People would rather stay inside the comforts of their homes and warm themselves in the fireplace than venture outside and brave the big chill.
But not me, I love being outside and feel the chill; I love that numbing feel on my skin. I love that kind of feeling that it is hard to explain when you‘re out, out there by yourself in the quiet--
I am at peace with myself when I am alone in the cold; I am at peace when I am standing in the open air, watching the birds frolic from branch to branch of the frosted maple trees; I am at peace with myself admiring the hanging icicles on the eaves; I am at peace with myself treading my own path in the snow; I am at peace with myself in the dead of winter…
It’s what you call communing with nature and appreciating the beauty of it all.
And like Thoreau and Emerson, I will never get tired of it.