I've been on a writing sprint lately for a very special project that I will share with you all soon. As I was editing a finished manuscript, I realized I've been writing about winter A LOT. And it made me chuckle, because I hadn't realized I'd been doing it.
It's not only that we're in the tail end of upstate NY's endless winters (it's actually unseasonably warm right now). But something about sticking winter in my writing has been revealing my own struggles with the strangeness of this past year. It has felt like a wasteland of endless winter.
But winter is beautiful, too, especially since it encourages a stillness and a turning-inward all of us need, but none of us do enough of. I was reminded of this in a beautiful essay on the "wisdom of wintering." And it helped that there are such beautiful views as this close to where I live:
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