It's been a hard winter, and it's only January. I won't lie to you. I've been fantasizing about moving south. I hate to admit that, since I've always taken pride in being a "hearty Midwesterner" who can take these grueling arctic blasts for four months. But the past two winters have been humbling. I'm getting too old for this. Too weary to dig the car out of a snow drift one more time. Too tired to trudge to work from the train in 2 feet of snow. To disgusted with one more pair of boots ruined by the combination of snow, salt, and melted "sludge" that collects in the street gutters.
No one cares how they look when go they to work in the morning. Typically stylish and sophisticated Chicagoans who work in the Loop now waddle down the streets in full-length black down coats, snow boots that are more practical than fashionable, and layers and layers of scarves, hats, mittens, ear muffs, and ski masks. I even saw one guy wearing ski goggles. He's smart. That wind that whips off the river as I walk to work feels like straight pins stabbing my face and makes my eyes water and nose run.
We are hearty, but human. And we're already tired of winter.
But today we got a reprieve. The sun was shining brightly. It felt warm -- even though it was only 17 degrees. I drove to my favorite coffee shop, which is two blocks from the lake, and on a whim walked to the beach. I had my camera and took these shots. Then I just sat on the pier and felt the sun on my face.
It felt like God's grace warming me in the midst of this brutal season. And I gave thanks, and prayed that Spring, and along with it, Easter, would come quickly.
