Winter, and choices

To define winter it is essential, I think, to talk about the whiteness of the light. The absolute flat monotone blankness of the sun marks now; we feel the absence of gold, of yellow, of bright in a way that can not be explained easily. It's not that the world is diminished in winter - indeed, I'd argue it grows larger for those forced to navigate it, especially away from the beaten paths - but this sense that there is something more, something better that is being deliberately and spitefully withheld that forms so much of the North Country's character.

Can we blame Persephone? I don't know; I've faltered more myself for lesser glories than the pomegranate.

 - C B Potts