The last gasps of winter are often the hardest to bear. At the little school where I teach and coach, the students find rugby practices worse now than they did two months ago: crusty ice tearing into the shins, feet sucked into barely melted water, a cold that seeps into the bones. William Shakespeare had a profound appreciation for the bitter, forlorn toll winter takes on people. He found nothing more apt to compare it to than one of the worst human sufferings: betrayal by loved ones—a suffering he further links with the experience of ingratitude.
In “Blow, Blow, Thou Winter Wind,” a song from “As You Like It,” he answers these complaints with a simple refrain—gratitude—and invites us to do the same.
