OK. So we've got the cold weather. Where's the snow?
Since the Patriots gave away the AFC Championship Game to the Indianapolis Colts two weeks ago, I lost a significant source of my extrinsic excitement. There are few things I enjoy more than sitting back on the couch, firing up my HD flat screen, cranking the 5.1 Dolby surround sound, and letting my spirits rise and fall with the weekly fate of Bill Belichick's gridiron boys.
The Pats are done, the Celtics are bottom-dwellers, and the Bruins irreverent. There's still three months to go until Red Sox opening day.
Aside from the Sopranos' final season (eight episodes slated to begin in March), there's not much else in the realm of high-definition entertainment worth getting excited about.
So I now turn toward the skies.
Please, Mother Nature, give me some powder upon which I may tread...
...through valley and field, stream and pond, I yearn for the crunch of white and the calm of crisp cold.
Listen to the chirp and rustle, the little scuttle, of birds and beavers, fox and otter. Behold the glimmer of the orb, undying, strengthening...
...in the blink of an eye the ground shall thaw and green things grow. Rain will yield the sun's full fury. We shall soon be scorched and forced to shelter in the very waters we now walk.
But as it is still cold, I seek a sojourn. 'Tis a placid white, a calming balm, that I do summon. My eyes are open. I await.