“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.“—John Steinbeck

Thirty degrees when we woke on this eve of Christmas Eve. The kids put on an extra layer over pajamas, donned boots, and went out at sunrise to leave footprints in the frosty grass.

They traipsed trails in shuffle-step patterns around the yard. My son persevered long after his sister returned to living room warmth and the couch with a book.

A sky flushed with faint rose glow minutes before is soon shot through with blazing pink and orange striations rising above the horizon.

Winter has much to offer.

An hour-by-hour reminder of impermanence. Sun burns through early fog. My son’s crestfallen mood later this morning when all his footprints have vanished, evaporated with the thawing dew.

Soon that sadness evaporates, as well, smoothed with a walk in the forest. Family and fresh air on a cold afternoon. The promise of warmth ahead.