We are in the first month of the year, which in the northern hemisphere in a temperate climate such as ours generally means cold fingers and shrinkage... lots and lots of shrinkage. Yet, a couple weeks ago, I found myself in a bewilderment. In the midst of January (re: shrinkage month), we were blessed with weather that would satisfy a Floridian retiree. Suddenly, the heat need not be on. Windows on cars could be rolled down. And those clothes packed away in a Fall mourning ceremony could find themselves utilized.
This led, as Jiggs so astutely observed, to an obligatory round... in January... in the Midwest... in shorts and a shirt.
I have disced in January before. Others among you have done the same. It is a horrid affair. Numb fingers perturb every shot, and snow (oh the snow!) is the prevailing course condition, a substance which serves but three purposes in disc golf: 1) Hamper all locomotion. Good luck finding any sure footing! 2) Make all things wet... and cold. Wet and cold. 3) Provides hide-and-seek locations for your discs. Peek-a-fuckin'-boo.
Our experience this January proved much more amiable. What's more? We didn't suck so bad! I'm not claiming mid-season form, but we acquitted ourselves quite nicely. Hopes of another charmed round have gone the way of the buffalo as a cold spell has come and played hell with my disposition. Yet, truth can be buried by neither snow nor by cold nor by any other devise sacred or profane. Truth abounds. Truth perseveres. Truth must be expounded. And the truth is that for a still, small time in January, harshness ebbed long enough for a singular moment of beauty.
For this I am thankful.
Song of the Month:
"Winter in the Hamptons" by Josh Rouse