Exactly one week after I forced myself to go for a photo stroll in thick fog, this morning I forced myself to get out of bed, put on three layers, and slog through a mile of snow to take some more pictures.
“WHY??” you might ask, as my husband did. “Because otherwise I’ll get depressed,” I might reply.
Last year’s cold and darkness took their toll, as did my constant pining to be elsewhere. I’ve not yet succeeded in moving to Paris (or Tahiti), so I recently realized I had two choices: either (a) curl up in a ball and wish the next six months away, or (b) get out there and make the best of it.
This morning I chose option “b.”
At first, my only companions were the sound of my own footsteps and the wind. The landscape felt desolate and barren.
But the woods seemed more welcoming, dressed in snowy-white lace.
Once my eyes got acclimated, I started to notice bits of color everywhere.
And by the time I was headed back home, I also started to notice other humans.
This morning I was reminded of an old Zen lesson: You can fight the way things are, or you can accept the way things are. Am I thrilled about being in Minnesota for yet another long, dark, cold winter? Nope. But I am here — and I’ll make the best of it, you betcha.