January's Child, A Daughter of Winter

A buck deer silently watches me from a frosty glen.

I am January's Child and a Daughter of Winter.

This is a season of beauty so breathtaking it feels like a photo shoot every morning when Molly and I head out for our walk.

When the west winds blow wild and my scarf over my face seems drastically inadequate and I'm wishing I had worn my warmer gloves, I am secretly giddy at such a fine winter day.

Oh, I do love my change of seasons. 
I'm always ready to embrace spring and the tender green buds and brave little daffodils that force winter's retreat.  
In summer I slather on the SPF 50 and try not to whine about the heat.  
In fall, I cherish the changing colors and knowing that winter is not far away. And, in winter, I celebrate every day!  

A cold frosty January morning as Molly and I walk the Poudre River Trail.

As a Daughter of Winter, I am happy to reach for a warm sweater or invest in yet another pair of boots with good tread and enough insulation to keep my feet toasty.  I don't find it cumbersome to dress for walking by starting with long underwear and adding layers.  

Long ice crystals cling to a stalk by the Cache la Poudre River.

I have always loved coats.  From windbreakers to fleece jackets to leather coats and my ultimate down-filled eggplant colored Marmot, I confess I have acquired quite a collection.  

While living in North Dakota, my coat collecting was refined to a fine art.  I quickly learned how essential selecting the right boots, gloves, headgear and coat became in preparation for whatever was awaiting outside. It was in North Dakota that I learned to respect the power of wind chill.

While living in Illinois and Ohio, I learned that cold temperatures and humidity can combine to rival almost the coldest day in North Dakota.  Add some wicked wind and it's nearly a tie.  (North Dakotans might argue that couldn't possibly be true, but believe me, it is.)

Growing up in Wyoming I was fooled into thinking that every cold bout was followed by a warming chinook wind. Wyoming is often given the rap of being a winter ice box.  While it's true that the temperatures may read colder than other parts of the country, it's a dry cold and doesn't clutch you with the icy fingers of wet cold.  (Again, Wyomingites might argue this, but a winter in Ohio with an inadequate coat will prove my point.)

Grass stalks encased in ice crystals cast long shadows in early morning light.

"It is deep January.  The sky is hard.  The stalks are firmly rooted in ice."

--Wallace Stevens
"No Possum, No Sop, No Taters"



Molly and I walk nearly every day.  We are so fortunate to have the beautiful Poudre River Trail nearby and take advantage of the paved walkway it provides. The best part about being a Daughter of Winter is that we almost always have the trail to ourselves once the temperatures drop, the wind increases and winter is firmly in control.

In warmer months the trail is abuzz with a jillion colorful bikers, quick-paced joggers and enthusiastic walkers, some with dogs.  It is a dangerous place to stop unexpectedly or absently cross from one side of the trail to the other.  I have learned through numerous close encounters with speeding bikes to look both ways before making any quick moves on the trail.

We have in this morning the trail to ourselves!

There is a lovely privacy about walking in the winter. 

Without needing to share the trail with anyone else we are free to meander from one side to another, avoiding slick ice or pausing to admire frost-laden branches or wind-sculpted snowdrifts.

This is Colorado and like Wyoming, the skies are almost always blue.

But, on those rare days that are overcast and dark, there is a quiet mystery to our walks.  The solitude is combined with a new appreciation for the serene remoteness of this beautiful wind-swept place.

Winter's serene beauty lies abundant in the remote quiet of this place.

An ice storm sweeps in from the west.

"The cold was our pride, the snow was our beauty.  It fell and fell, lacing day and night together in a milky haze, making everything quieter as it fell, so that winter seemed to partake of religion in a way no other season did, hushed, solemn."
                                    --Patricia Hampl

Early sunrise reflects in the windows from the houses across the ravine looking west toward the snow-covered
Rocky Mountains beneath January's full moon.