Perhaps it is because the season of winter bridges those seasons of autumn and spring that we bestow so much power to the New Year. We quickly transition from the dying of fall in which flowers, trees, and even the grass lose their color and their foliage, into a cold and barren landscape of winter that drapes itself in a blanket of white and long shadows, and finally, and for many, slowly into a season of new life; spring.
The old year passes. The new year begins. Dark at first, yes. Cold in its beginning, certainly. But the landscape, lonely and forsaken, contains a hidden hope for a brilliant spring; one filled with color, sound, and scents.
I never regret the winter months. They give me the opportunity to reflect: Sitting beside a warm fire, with a coffee in my hand on dark mornings, I ponder the meaning of life. I think about the things I can accomplish. I plan great and daring feats and dream big dreams as my dog sleeps at my feet.
January is a month for short days and long shadows. It is a month of solitude and visions of what can be. If I strive to be my very best when the days grow longer, and the sun once again warms the earth, I can achieve anything. January is a month of new beginnings, even before the snow has had a chance to melt away.
If my car tires and battery are new and my hat and mittens are at my side, I say bring on winter in all its glory. In my estimation, winter is not the end, but an exciting new beginning. It opens new chapters to the book of my life, and I am glad for it.