I don't know about anyone else, but winter is not my favorite season. Don't get me wrong, I love a roaring fire and watching the rain outside, but that’s usually a fleeting moment. Those of us who manage chronic pain know that our defences are lowered by the constant battle to untense muscles tightened by the low temperatures. Along with the naked trees, misty streets and bone aching cold, winter strips me bare. And it hurts. I have adopted a hot water bottle and a wheat bag. They join in most of my travels. Sometimes just from room to room. The scent of lavender from the wheat bag reminds me that spring will inevitably arrive and the gloom will dissipate. In the meantime, I write as much as I am able to while the heater hums and my old dog snores on the study chair. Time and pain pass. This morning I awoke, not to the usual stillness of the winter but to a bird twittering in the branches outside my window. Maybe spring is closer than I think.
