Tell me you don't want to be right here in this picture right now, arm in arm, with someone who loves you and that you love back madly. This is a Tolstoy-grade love scene. This is, "Oh my gawd, I hope I haven't lost that diamond. I'm in the moment. I so love this person, this time of year, this scene."

Winter is the most romantic season. Don't deny it. You have to hug just to stay warm. Quilts. Comforters. Feety pajamas.

After you walk this walk, you go back to your apartment or home, put a fire in the fireplace, throw on some chestnuts from Europe, mix something wickedly toxic from the alcohol family, insert the Handel disc, and, well… the rest of the story is up to you.

You owe it all to Winter. It blows into town the 22nd. Welcome it. [Welcome the September babies, too?]

Love Winter. Winter loves you!