Blow blow thou winter wind

We've only had a few days of truly winter weather, but it's already getting to me.  Snow on the ground and slipping on ice and the sky so grey and full of more snow.  Snow is pretty at Christmas.  Snow at Christmas glitters in the fairy lights hung on every house and on every Christmas tree.  Snow and ice and grey and sleet cease to be cozy after the end of December.  Nothing glitters.  January feels raw.  January feels vulnerable.  Or maybe I'm only projecting.  When the wind blows in January it does not make me think of warm fires and family gatherings and peppermint hot chocolate.  When the wind blows in January it freezes my fingers and stops my breath and makes my nose run.  It has not been the best of days, nor the best of weeks.  Nor has it been a particularly bad day, nor a particularly bad week.  In fact, many good things have happened.  But for whatever reason-- the cold, tiny cuts in my dry hands and feelings, unable to feel a rhythm to my days--instead of being grateful for what I have, I see only more work to be done.  But I need to warm up before the weather does.  So I'll try to see the beauty in ice, but I know my heart waits for spring.