On the wind-battered shores of Maine in January, it’s hard to remember paradise. It’s hard to remember laughter and sunshine, seals and summer boats. It’s hard to remember easy times and shady trees, relaxing on the shores as the fishermen and lobstermen pull in their daily catch. All of that seems like a cruel lie now, a reward someone promised us to get us to behave.
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| The realm of the Lord of Winter. |
The cold is bitter in January, and the Lord of Winter reigns
supreme. Sometimes when the wind lets
up, I can hear him laughing on the shore, but I still go to the edge of the
land even in the dead of winter, out of defiance I suppose. It takes many layers of clothing and a
certain amount of stubbornness, with which I was gifted in plenty at birth. I am not defeated yet.
The only thing that makes January easy in Maine is knowing that it is not
February. I’ll take my small victories
as they come.
