Bluebird sky and brisk air and golden waves of light spilling over the horizon, these things go well with coffee. These things do not exist unless you turn off your phone, layer up, and find it within yourself to sit in stillness for a few moments.
The world is always singing you see, for those who slow down enough to hear it. Michigan’s song changes with the seasons, and in February it’s mostly wind and rustling leaves, or the precious silence that accompanies a heavy snow. In those moments, the world appears to drift into soft sleep.
Michigan’s winter song always resonates with hope, with the reminder of summer and the promise of its return, not soon, not yet, but eventually.
That is what I love about Michigan, about home. We are a people who still hold hope within ourselves. We are a people who can survive the cold, the ice, the numbing of fingertips and noses. We are a people who take these dreary months and create our own warmth within them.
Hot coffee in the morning and tea in the afternoon, a splash of whiskey at night will allow you to laugh in spite of the gray sky and the darkening afternoons.
We come together during these days, over root vegetable soups – the last glorious reminder of summer’s bounty – and complex craft beer and local music, the essence of the Midwest spirit transformed into something we can dance to.
And so we do.
We dance in our winter boots, we dance until we’re glistening with sweat under our puffies, as temperatures plummet and ice cliffs form along the lake we all love so dearly, we dance to stay warm.
We are Michiganders, and in the midst of this dead winter, we are still brilliantly alive.