From the bloggers at Box Canyon Blog.
Time is s-l-o-w like a tortoise in winter, I track them both on iCal while home… scratching them off while shoveling the white plague from decks and driveway. I climb aboard the tortoise back to “slow ride,” to smell “roses,” only to watch summer grass and old friends wither and die underfoot. Roses don’t grow in Wintertime, and Father Time doesn’t wait on fools to be enlightened.
Nietzsche’s take on Winter:
“Winter, a wicked guest, sitting at home with me; my hands are blue from the handshake of his friendship. I honor the wicked guest, but I like to let him sit alone. I like to run away from him; and if one runs well, one escapes him. With warm feet and warm thoughts I run where the wind stands still, to the sunny nook of my mount of olives. There I laugh at my severe guest and am still well disposed toward him for catching the flies at home and for silencing much small noise.”
To read the full story by Box Canyon Blog, click here.