The Snow and the Salt

In winter, here in Quebec, things change. It happens very gradually, but the business of everyday life is very different in winter months than it is in the summer.
Socks gain this new power over people. Its ironic they should cover the Achilles tendon, of all things. I needed to run out quickly, so I slipped my bare foot into my boot, and instantly felt the residual cold wet of melted snow on the laces. I immediately changed my plan, slowed down, and went on a search for socks.
Sidewalks are dusted with salt, sand, and pebbles to prevent slipping. It hurts my dog's feet. Even though she loves walking in winter even more than summer, because she tends to overheat, I need to avoid sidewalks and walk in the street to avoid damaging the pads of her paws.
I was thinking about seasons like people. Spring and Fall have the same personality, and I know those people well. They are polite, and are willing to listen, but they make it clear that they can't stay long, they have somewhere to be. They are busy. And I respect that, so I am brief with the thoughts I share with them, because I, too, am busy. Summer is like a good friend, spread too thin. I am not bothered, because my attention is as divided. Luckily, it is a season of plenty, so we are always close to contentment.I feel like my thoughts pass like wind through the leaves of a tree, or dry up in the hot sun, or get splashed and soaked in a river. I can't hold onto much or focus, but I appreciate the abundance of ideas, and the warmth.
The winter is my best friend, and my worst enemy. It is me, reflected in the ice. When I look out the window during any other season, there is always movement, and life, and intention. The winter looks back at me and just waits for my cue. It is quiet, and ready to absorb my thoughts. The problem is, the winter never agrees or disagrees. It just listens, and never responds. I can get lost in silence, or drive a single thought to the point of utter despair. Winter won't stop me, or distract me.