In Minnesota, where I was born and raised, we would joke that we experienced only two seasons: winter and road construction. January and February were the coldest months, with temperatures well below zero degrees keeping us indoors at all times, even during recess at school.
Despite my dislike of the intense cold, there was something about winter that I loved. My perfect picture of serenity was to sit by a crackling fireplace, wrapped up in a cozy blanket, sipping hot cocoa and reading or contemplating life, while soft flakes of white slowly and steadily blanketed the ground in snowy insulation. Those heavy snows would create a kind of quiet that was almost palpable. The silence was deafening—and wonderful.