Well, I guess you can see where I am going with this. No decorations, nor wreaths. No tableaux of holiday refinements.
Why would anyone in their right mind want to live where it does this in the winter? I must not be in my right mind because it has been freezing for days on end now, yet here I am. Jack Nicholson in The Shining? Cabin fever? I know of what they speak. Roads impassable. Feeding the animals is horrible. Part of the greenhouse caved in. Winter is my hell. Guess the damn persimmon was right.
Chekhov writes about "grief" to describe cold weather. Don't like the Russian writers, but he got that right.
The only saving graces are birdwatching -
and this pic of my little snagglepuss snow angel, Bella.
Here is a line from Hans Christian Anderson's THE SNOW QUEEN - "The flake of snow grew larger and larger; and at last it was like a young lady dressed in the finest white gauze, made of a million little flakes like stars."
Doesn't take very long to make me feel better.