I hate winter. Outside hurts. And as someone who suffers from Seasonal Affective Disorder in addition to chronic (treated) Depression, I detest November through February.
The words to the poem below came to me as I was driving Rebecca to work and a jerk was tailgating us on a slippery road. It was late January 2014 — the year of the Arctic Blast. Our car had not yet warmed up, so my shoulders were scrunched up trying to cover my neck. The sky was gray. I was in pure misery.
I submitted this poem to Minnesota Public Radio for a conversation on Minnesotans and their feelings about winter. They read it, so I was plenty prideful that day.