When Chekhov saw the long winter, he saw a winter bleak and dark and bereft of hope. Yet we know that winter is just another step in the cycle of life. But standing here among the people of Punxsutawney and basking in the warmth of their hearths and hearts, I couldn’t imagine a better fate than a long and lustrous winter.
I do sort of feel like I’m living the same day over and over this January. Wake up, freeze ass off, work, lunch on sheepskin by fire concluded with a ~20 min nap [pictured above], freeze ass off, work, wine.
Does it sound like I’m complaining? Because I’m not. I mean, that’s a damned good lunch.