Winter Weary is another malady that afflicts a person during the chill winter months. It is more apt to appear near the end of the season. The first snowfall is often welcome with wide open arms and eyes, a welcome sight, covering the bareness of the trees and the fallen brown leaves with a bright white robe of eiderdown and lace. Slowly, as the shoveling, the cold, the ice, and the repeated discoloration of the pristine white drifts occur, I grow weary of the bleak, gray days and begin to long for the spring melt, the sunshine, and the warm breezes. I grow weary of dragging my homemade wooden wheelbarrow out to the covered wood pile, moving each piece to the one-wheeled conveyance, and pushing the heavy load to be stored in my basement. I grow weary of getting up in the middle of the night to refill my wood burner with the split logs from the fire ring. I grow weary of cleaning out the ashes to carry outside, adding their dust to the discoloration of the snow. Punxsutawney Phil did little to lift my spirits out of these dreary days of doldrum, sharing that there will be six more weeks of the winter wearies. SIGH.
I grow weary of carefully waltzing across the icy surface of my driveway, being extremely cautious not to fall. The slip and fall in 2015 has made me more aware of just how dangerous ice can be. I don’t want another head injury. The two bleeds in my head happening once was more enough.
I can’t wait until the gentle prying fingers of the vernal equinox, the gentle zephyrs and the warmth of sunshine chase the winter wearies away. The time when those dreary, tail end of winter days are replaced with the cheery, colorful days of spring.