I know people who love winter. They should live in the polar regions, because they dislike the heat and rejoice at the first snowfall. Those people aren't me.
I have a complicated relationship with winter at best. I know it's the price I pay for living in a mountain town where the nearby peaks still have glaciers. Sometimes winter and I get along okay, especially on bluebird days where the snow is all sparkly. Other times when it's gray and gloomy and the roads are covered in ice, I think of the winter I spent in Hawaii and wonder what I was thinking to leave.
One of my neighbors hardly ever comes outside, even in summer. I see her sometimes walking her dog to the mailbox, but most of the time she is indoors. In winter, I go for weeks without seeing her. Her car won't move out of her carport. If she enjoys being inside, I won't judge. But that won't be me.
So I buy a ski pass, and find my snowshoes in the garage. I look for northern lights while I sit in the hot tub. And yesterday I hiked to a lake in the mountains, one that I love but avoid in the summer due to crowds.
It was about 20 degrees. The trail only had a skiff of snow and ice, and the lake was surprisingly not yet frozen. A few people were there, better prepared than I was with hot drinks and blankets. The cliffs around the lake looked beautiful with a dusting of snow. It was a completely different place than it was in the summer.
I will always love summer more than winter. I love just going outside, without having to prep for it with mittens, hats, snow tires, and everything else that goes along with it. I love a summer trail that is alive with flowers and birds. But I've learned to live with winter, and I'll get along with this one too. At times I'll even like it.