Is this the end then? Is this how we’ll end it? our once a year meeting is always somewhat volatile—fevered fluctuations in temperatures, angry winds, annoying mud, deep deep snow, unsafe ice, ice so thick that it seems it will never thaw, endless shades of gray depression, bright bright sparkles on sunlit snow, intense rainbows on the water droplets of hanging pine bows. . . always predictable in its unpredictability—January, carving us into the strength to withstand life’s hard knocks and to appreciate the depth of its beauty. Farewell dear January. Please tell February to send back the snow, I’m so desperately not ready for mud season.