I’ve turned to the last page of my 2017 calendar and realized another year has passed into oblivion.

I used to wonder why older people claimed that time seemed to pass more swiftly as they get older, but I know now that its true. I may however be inclined to see it differently when the full face of winter claims its time and always seems reluctant to leave. I grow anxious when March comes and winter lingers well past its welcome.

We humans because we mastered the art of controlling fire, have been able to survive even in the arctic. But it doesn’t mean that its our natural habitat. We’re not polar bears.

We evolved in warm climates and thrived in temperate zones. Winter, on the other hand, presents a serious challenge. Only our manual dexterity saves us from certain death. But with our opposing thumbs and creative brains we mastered the art of making clothing.

So here we are in the heart of winter bundled up to our noses in assorted layers of clothing and wholly dependent on fire in one form or another to keep us from perishing.

No wonder our more affluent population heads south.

Not me, I come from a long line of hardy northerns. I add a couple of more layers or winter clothing and head out the door to face the challenge of staying upright on icy sidewalks and harboring a kind of pride in myself for being able to handle whatever winter has in store, at least up to a point and as long as my old furnace keeps the house at 55 degrees.