l’hiver

Isn’t it romantic?

It’s an excellent time to get warm….

I remember when it snowed again in December, but only a dusting, merely an accidental spill compared to the deliberate dump a few weeks before, when they closed school. I had to feed a neighbor’s cats and the county didn’t plow the roads until afternoon, so I trekked it solo, bundled and pajamed. I didn’t look forward to it but as soon as I stepped outside, I was glad for the excuse to walk around.

Nothing like crisp air pinching my lungs awake, a solid whitish sky above, and crunchy snow under the boots to wake up the mind and spirit. I was indeed bitten by the photography bug, and was occasionally concerned a certain house’s occupants would think something less-innocent of my numerous visits past their house because I liked the way their yard looked covered in snow.

No other season changes the landscape like winter does. Almost everything dies or withers, yet the snowflakes paint it all a new life in white…

Isn’t it romantic?

It paints the aural landscape virtually silent. Snow insulates sound. It insulates us. The world feels much closer with snow on the ground and the trees, and the streets, and the cuffs of our pants. We trek it indoors, we squeak through school, we bulge our backpacks with the extra warmth we don’t need while inside. Winter is as much a time of warmth as it is a time of chill.

Now that we have heat built into our homes, we don’t have to fight for our lives like creatures out in the elements do. They might not see winter as beautifully as I see it because we are warm and cold, in ways we like.

White is a canvas. When it melts, there is new. New Year’s could be when the last snow melts: when new things emerge, colorful, shaking off their old snowflakes, folding up their blankets for spring cleaning. What would it be like to base our life around nature instead of an arbitrary calendar day?

It might be romantic.

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