The Shameful Admission of a Change Averse Man - April 12 2026

 

The Shameful Admission of a Change Averse Man

April 12 2026

I feel apologetic

admitting to my dislike of spring.

Am I that dour, sour, and curmudgeonly

that the return of the sun,

the greening of the earth,

and the season of rebirth

all leave me cold?

But what about the mud, I say,

the bugs,

and even the sun?

So unaccustomed 

it blinds my winter-weak eyes,

and angled so diabolically 

every dust ball stands out

like an accusation of sloth.

I run hot

so the colder the better.

While the long nights are a refuge

of star-filled skies

and quiet walks.

And who doesn’t delight in thick wool socks

and a cozy fire?

Even snow days are prized,

the white stuff

softening the world and muting its noise,

while I’m happily confined

by impassable roads.

A paean to winter

from a change averse man.

Who sits, listening to the dripping eaves

and shading his eyes.

Who hopes for another sub zero night,

snuggled under his comforter

in a cold dark room,

dreaming pleasant dreams

in restorative sleep.

But not reveries of potholes

soiled snow

and illicit dog poop

thawing in the heat,

but snow angels

northern lights

and wild winter storms,

when the world mercifully stops

and time magically slows.

Nothing odd about me being different. More than eccentric, I’m almost diametrically at odds with the norm. So is it really unexpected that the older I get the more I love winter? That unlike my peers, the last thing I’d consider would be fleeing it, another snowbird over-wintering in Arizona or Florida. I like the cold. I like the long nights. I like the stark beauty of a real winter. And not just the peacefulness, but the adversity. Never mind not having to constantly clean and dry the dogs. Who themselves are exhilarated by winter and are bad in the heat.  

(Although I must also concede that spring has its compensation:  not only baseball’s opening day, but the day when every fan has a first place team!)