In Theory

In theory, according to Newt Gingrich, I was not out salting the ice covered sidewalk this morning because it had rained in December in Saskatchewan.  In theory I did not ice skate my way to work.  I did not stand in the sunshine of a low winter sun with a March wind ruffling my hair, the smell of fall leaves turning to the wine of soil and think of daisies budding out.  No, in theory, according to Mr. Gingrich, I was wearing my overcoat, my beautiful big blue overcoat, and not my jacket.  I was, in theory, wearing my rainbow scarf and my red hat, and my black leather mitts: because it is December in Saskatchewan and it is therefore -20 degrees Celsius, not +2.  In theory there is snow on the ground.  About a foot of it, and lovely packed trails along the walks and in the parks.  Trails on which the snow crunches underfoot and allows me to stride along. Today is all white and blue and crisp, in theory. Not grey and brown and slippery. Ain't winter beautiful. In theory.