My Grieving Process

I used to prefer winter over summer… an idea that is undoubtedly foreign to most. I loved the first snow, hot chocolate, fireplaces, hoodies, snowboarding, trees covered in frost, christmas lights… I just loved it all, ok?

Well that all changed after last winter. And unless you were in a coma, you know exactly what I’m talking about. My close brush with death didn’t help matters any. And though some may argue that our summer wasn’t altogether pleasant either, I relished every moment of every day, living it up to the fullest. I love the green trees, and rolling hills. I love the smell of freshly cut grass and B.O. I love grilling, swimming, bonfires, and starry nights.

Bottom line? It’s getting cold out, the days are getting shorter. And normally I would be loving the brightly colored countryside, crunchy leaves and crisp air, the perfect smell of pumpkin pie. I’m passed the denial phase of my grief, and have moved on to the pouting phase, complete with cold appendages, wearing sweaters to work on perfectly nice days. I’ve relinquished my right to flip-flops with blatant refusal to shave my legs or repaint my ghastly chipping toenail nasties.

This photo was taken 39 seconds ago:

And so here’s a little friendly reminder of what our acreage looks like in the fall:

AND… IN THE WINTER.

It’s enough to make you shudder… isn’t it?