We were in Milwaukee to see Bon Iver’s show for the 10th anniversary of the album, For Emma, Forever Ago—an appropriate time and place for a band whose name is based on the French “bon hiver”—good winter.
But good is hardly how I would describe winter. I am the scrooge of winter. I can appreciate the season for exactly 25 days in the month of December; once we pass Christmas, I am decidedly over winter, ready to trash it with the torn wrapping paper and leftover cookie crumbs. Most nights are spent hiding under a blanket and watching reruns of New Girl and The Office and longing for the days when the sun stays up past 4:30pm. Outside my apartment windows, tree branches that once carried armfuls of green life now look more like gnarled hands reaching up from the grave. Give me literally any season over winter, please.