The snow keeps piling up, and we shovel and shovel and shovel and it just keeps coming down. Some complain, some don't. I'd say I'm somewhere in between. Some days I don't like it. I just want it to go away and summer to come so I can sit on the beach and just listen to the waves.
Then, I realize, I like winter. I like the snow. I like the cold that turns cheeks and noses red. I like the icy fingers, the icy toes. I like it when it falls all sparkly onto the ground with the slightest little breath of noise. Like a whisper. I like sitting in a quiet room, blinds on the window open, reading. Occasionally looking up as the white, fluffy flakes build up into snow banks.
I was doing that earlier. And as I watched the snow and read my book, I wondered why. Why do I read? My brothers call me crazy for the amount of time I spend reading. Almost as if they think it's a waste of time. I thought about that earlier too. Maybe it's a time waster? Maybe I spend too much time reading when I have more productive things to do with my day?
Then I thought; am I insane?! Did I really just think that? I know why I read. Because books can take you magical places. Because whether you're reading a book about the history of apple picking, or a C.S. Lewis novel, or the Bible, you're always learning. Always growing. Always absorbing new knowledge of some sort. I like learning. I like getting wrapped up in a book. As crazy as this sounds, I like getting emotionally attached to book characters and crying when they go through hard times. Reading is apart of who I am. It's something I do. It's something I like to do. Especially in the winter.
So winter can take it's time leaving, spring and summer are probably going to be busy, and I'm not done taking a few more uninterrupted book adventures yet.