“I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape. Something waits beneath it; the whole story doesn’t show.” — Andrew Wyeth

I would be lying if I were to write that I love winter the most. It’s true that I do love winter, and snow, and the cold dark indifference of the long night. But to say I love winter most is to ignore the very best days of spring, when the daffodils are blooming and there is hope in the air. Or the warm comfort of summer days, with the meditative delight of deadheading the flowers and plucking cherry tomatoes from stem to mouth. To say nothing of autumn, in its kaleidoscope of color and the smell of leaves returning to earth. Like children, we may love each season in their own way.

The trick is to love each day, no matter the season, for all that it brings to us. To pine for other seasons is to concede our agency over now. This is our time and place. We are right here and now because of the choices we’ve made in our life. So embrace the cold with another layer and venture out into the wild world of winter. Or simply grab a cup of steaming tea and a great book if you like. The days are what they are, and soon they’ll lead us to another season with something else to complain about or secretly love, whatever our inclination might be.

When we approach today as if it’s a beautiful day to be alive, the day comes alive for us. Stack enough days together this way and we have a great season. And these seasons do blur together after enough of them. So celebrate this one, and maybe do something with it to remember it by. Winter is here, bitingly cold and alive. Take the day in hand in all its stark beauty and dance with it.