On Winter



I am usually a fan of winter, of snow dancing on the road and floating in great fluffy flakes from the sky, swirling and twirling, spinning and hopping. I love the way that a blanket of white brightens the world and the way that the moon shines silver and full of arcane mystery across the great expanse in the dark hours of the night. I swoon over stars made brighter by the cold winter sky and the way that one's breath wisps and dances before one. I love the quiet of the snow, the hushed blanket and the way that one cannot help but feel transported, alone in snowy woods. Cold, real cold, makes its own twinkly lights in the luminescent shape of water frozen in drops and strings, little mirrors of cold reflection and chilling beauty. I love all of this and I love the way it all intensifies the comforts of home, the way that it calls forth the pleasure of warm socks, hot cocoa, hearty stews and fluffy homemade bread smeared gently with butter.

Which is why all of this grey and all of this rain is really getting me down. I am not a wet, drowning sort of person and I do not like my weather in between warm and cold, I prefer it to be very much one, or the other. Preferably the other. I do not like puddles unless they are brought by spring rains and come with boots. I do not like flooded bits of path and being subjected to sudden down pours while walking the dog (nor does she). I do not like wet shoes and soaked socks, nor do I like streams following me into the house. Winter rain is not winter, it is something that looks like winter without possessing any of its magic, any of its small majesties.

So I try to keep my spirits up by reading and writing, by snapping photographs in the brief sunlit space between storms, by eating copious amounts of pasta and spinach, by making proper oatmeal with nuts in the dreary, dark mornings, and making myself workout even if I'd rather try to wedge myself under the coffee table or back under the sheets. Do what I may, however, in the quiet moments of my mind, the heartbreaking longing for winter sets in, for the magical and transformative, soul-intensifying winters of my childhood.

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