Bring it on!

I like January sunshine—sunshine that melts the snow and ice off the roads and leaves the roads bare and dry, looking almost brand new.
Last Friday was just such a day with everything looking beautiful and peaceful.
It’s early January days, with 2015 just barely out of the starting blocks, so I haven’t yet been knocked around too badly; haven’t wrestled with winter and she hasn’t yet had her heavy boot on my throat making it hard to breathe.
Not yet. But January can turn on us in a blink of an eye, bare her teeth, and send us indoors with her harsh breath and icy disposition.
I have to say it: January is fickle.
I was thinking about this fickle quality of January and I wonder if perhaps that is the very essence of winter that we admire with whatever vigour we can muster in the early darkness of evening and the hesitant morning light; in our love-hate relationship with winter.
Summer is a fairly constant dance between rain and sunshine, the days long and lazy, but winter can have the whole range—an entire repertoire of dance from the gentle easy waltz to the dramatic tango with a little salsa in between, and it can do all those dances in the space of a single day.
What do they say about Canadian weather? If you don’t like the weather, wait 10 minutes; it will change.
Snow can fall as big fluffy flakes, barely a whisper on our skin, the wind just a hush, the trees blanketed, the branches sloping down and freshly-dusted.
But the evil twin lurks nearby with the snow that drives sideways, tearing at our cheeks and nose, trying to pull off our hat and crawl down our neck and into the small of our back—right down into our boots where our toes begin to sting and complain.
When winter knocks at my door, I tend to imagine long beaches with turquoise water lapping at its shore. The water splashing and rolling in and out, in and out, the sound lulling me into a deep sleep, the sun beating down, the wind warm, me in a hammock sipping something delightful.
I like to imagine running away from iced-up windshields and slippery sidewalks and snow piling up at the door desperate to get in; imagine running away from messy woodstoves that spread ash dust over every inch of the house and away from layers and more layers of clothes.
I like to imagine escaping January and February—hiding from their threatening unpredictability; their changing attitude making travel plans a challenge, plans of any kind very tentative.
But I think I would miss the dance; miss the surprises like Friday’s brilliant blue sky and warm sunshine—everything freshened up, painted white with a new fall of snow, as if everything has become new again in this year that has just begun, full of promises and hope, the possibilities endless.
The days already are getting noticeably longer, I can tell, my cells feel it. So bring on your dance, January.
I’m ready.