Let's face it, winter is not so glamorous. When it is -20 degrees F and I am swathed in layers of down, wool and polypro I am an unlikely to ever be called glamorous. But here is the secret, I carry it on the inside of those layers, deep in the activity of my imagination. While I trudge down the trail behind my dog in my trusty mukluks, I could be crossing a bridge over the Seine, or walking down the beach to warm waters. Instead of spruce boughs covered in snow above me, there are 100 meter kapok trees teaming with monkeys and orchid epiphytes. The sound of snow machines in the distance, no way, those are crashing waves just beyond the reef. And as for my clothes, I am wearing a lovely, strappy black dress with an outrageous scarf and knee high boots and I am about to meet my lover and drink an entire bottle of wine. So maybe it isn't about the glamor on the outside for me, it is about the fabulous tales on the inside.