14 Feb a love letter to winter
I stood on my porch this morning and took three photos with my iPhone. The first is of the sky looking east. The second, looking north. The last photo looking west.
That blanket of grey clouds is retreating too fast. Chased away by a vast wall of blue. The blue says, Move along now. You know you don’t belong here.
I begged it to stay just a little bit longer, to let its moisture seep into our skin, its chill spill over the landscape. I had just pulled the thick cable-knit sweater over my head. I hadn’t yet finished brewing my tea. I wanted to put a log on the fire and curl up under a blanket with the kids and read books.
Of course I have a romantic attachment to winter. Winter can do no wrong. In the same way people who don’t live on a beach dream of living on a beach and don’t consider sand in their ears and their hair whipping them in the face and the constant smell of sunscreen and hurricane season, I am quick to forget the resistance of a snow shovel digging into two feet of slush, the desperate cold that forces you to do silly things like sit with your toes pressed against a heating vent and take hot showers in the middle of the day.
I realized today that my love of winter is a love of comfort and togetherness. A love of cuddling. A love of hot beverages, how they warm you from within. A love of hats and scarves and hearty pots of stew.
Bronwynn wears her rain boots perhaps three or four times a week. I can’t recall the last time it rained. Months ago, maybe. Does it diminish her joy in wearing the boots?
So here I sit. The sun is shining full bore now. I have my tea, piping hot. I’m wearing a sweater, a different one…not as thick as the cable-knit, but cozy just the same. A blanket is draped over my legs (though not for long, as I’m starting to get hot). Tonight, we will cuddle. The calendar still says winter, after all.