It always looks cold and grey, winter. The lack of colour, even though you know there’s colour there, somewhere under the white snow. When the sky is cloudy, just like it is today, even the brightest colour seems dull and lifeless.
In winter, the wind seems to howl through the cracks of the house a little louder. As warm inside as it might get, that sound is a chill reminder of what it’s like outside.
The days are a little shorter, the nights a little longer. Into December, I wake up in the morning with the sky still pitch black. It takes me a few days to get used to it, as I have to check my clock to make sure it’s five in the morning and not three.
It’s sort of like a shock, and a bit of sorrow sets in. But after a while, you get used to it. You welcome the darkness in the morning. On warmer winter mornings I’ll wrap up in my house coat, take my cup of coffee and with my slippers on I’ll walk onto my balcony and look out across the snow in the street below. There’s always something different to see.
Winter provides something else. It gives us the opportunity to remember that spring and summer are not far away. Ever. The warm days always return. There’s excitement in seeing each bud on every tree. In fall, the colours attract us, and even the sky as it changes gives up hope because of a plentiful harvest.
But it’s always back there, you know. Winter. It sits and waits, we as we dread and it as it always does. Never changing. But I’ve grown used to winter, and as she comes around again, I’ll welcome her on those cool, frosty mornings.
“Good morning, Winter.”
“Good morning, Tim.”
“You look lovely this morning with your sparkles and how you’ve decorated the trees.”
“Thank you. Enjoying a coffee I see.”
“Yes, I am. It’s still cool, but not brisk. Thank you for that.”
“You’re very welcome. Maybe today I’ll let it be a bit warmer.”
“I would appreciate that, Winter. Very much.”