
This was supposed to be a post about Bad Winter, a most wonderful time of the year, but I got waylaid. First, the weather withheld its end of the bargain, maintaining a balmy 30s and 40s as we crossed into the new year, making it difficult to sink into the feeling. It didn’t help that I avoided as best I could the usual December hysteria, opting for a few measured doses of holiday cheer and pouring into bed (still finely drunk) within an hour of the newly born 2023; no regrets there, but no high to come down from either. And then I violated key tenets of Bad Winter—shadows and relative solitude—by weekending away from it just as the weather began to chill in earnest, sunning (among other indulgences) in a warmer climate down South.
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