Winter
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This month has been unseasonably warm. Usually by mid-December we’ve had a few snowfalls. Frost coats the car windshields each morning and temperatures drop below freezing until the end of March. But we’ve been enjoying lovely September weather this Christmas. I didn’t have much experience with the cold growing up. Living in the Texas coastal
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If I were a season I’d be winter. Not just because I was born in December, and not because physical appearance can only be described as “snowy”. It’s not anything so obvious and concrete. The connection is more of a feeling beyond reason. I don’t know if I can say that winter is my favorite
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The cold lingers in the air And in my mind, Cloudy as the gray sky. The weight of winter smog Settles in my chest, Causing me to cough in my bed As I long for sleep That cannot cure this fatigue.
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This December has been one of the coldest of my life. I’ve been in Utah for 14 years, but as Utah has been in a drought for just as long. My first winter in the Rockies was filled with ice and snow, but each consecutive year the snow came later and later. Many years we
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I have never been a fan of the cold. Growing up in Southeast Texas, cold wasn’t something I encountered very often. The few occasions when the thermometer dropped below freezing were rare and therefore exciting. The fantasy of building snowmen or having a “white Christmas” were just that, fantasies. Until I moved to Utah and
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Silence. Muffled, echoing voices singing yuletide songs. Silence. Smothered, trodding footsteps in the light crunch of snow. Silence. Dimmed, crackling flickers of a soft grated flame. Silence. Measured, rhythmic turning of a well worn page. Silence. Hushed, intimate whispers of a loved one’s voice. Silence. Stilled, passing time in the winter frozen world.
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Both the temperature and my energy are low. January is always the hardest month of the year for me. My Seasonal Affective Disorder is in full swing, but I can’t distract myself with thoughts of the holidays. The days are short, the weather miserable, and my motivation is non-existant. Everything from work to household chores
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How can something so cold be less like unyielding ice? Soft and fragile as a fairy wing, graceful and light in its dance. More air than water, less wet than dry, champagne snow falls in mountain skies.
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He’ll be home for Christmas. I haven’t seen him since the green summer at the bay. The blue seawater off the coast- And the setting sun on the Ferry Slip- a memory to last through the lonely autumn. But, he’ll be home for Christmas- To warm me again as the days grow short and cold.
Bringing Mae Flowers 