A Winter without end

Winter fatigue is starting to set in. You know, those long months when there is no end in sight and one begins to feel that spring is a mere figment of your imagination. The proverbial carrot dangled in front of your nose as the days drag on and months clock up mileage but still it remains cold, and dreariness refuses to loosen her grip on the city.

I always start the year feeling optimistic about the weather. In the beginning, winter is gorgeous, especially when I am watching the snowfall from the snuggly comfort of my couch. Even when I venture outside, I revel in the crisp crunch of my boots as they connect with the padded pavement. It is the closest thing to the childish delight of splashing in a puddle. Even the trees look majestic in their naked beauty and I pause and tell myself that maybe winter isn't so bad after all.

But then, two months into the year, reality takes root. The lingering chill is no longer fresh and pleasant. It is morphed into a bone chilling unpleasantness that only serves to underscore the misery permeating the air. The wind is merciless and relentless, turning every snowfall into a torrent of sleet and mayhem.

Most telling us the demeanor of the trees. Where they once stood proud and showed off their gently frosted tips, they now cower in terror. Tormented as the rest of us are by the neverending punishment of the elements. Logically, I know the end is in sight, but for some reason, this feels like a winter without end.