Here are some notes I took last night on how much I am loving winter this year.
There’s a specific winter feeling that I adore; knowing it is cold outside, but not feeling cold. When the wind absolutely kicks me in the face and my eyes water, maybe my nose is numb; but the rest of me doesn’t feel the chill. My layers of sweaters and sweatpants, my mittens and scarf, my hat. They all shield me. They make me feel like I myself am made of fluff. Like I’m one big, round cotton ball. Cotton balls don’t get cold.
Another obsession of mine unique to the winter, is laying on the cold ground in all the afore mentioned layers. It’s almost like laying on a mattress. I can still tell it’s cold, but I just can’t feel it. There’s only comfort. I could honestly sleep this way, in a cocoon of cotton and wool. Fleece and fluff. Winter and I are friends this year. After a long and spiteful relationship, winter wore me down. She got to me; she got under my skin, just not under my sweater.
It’s still raining and cloudy now. Today. Yesterday. Most of last week. The bleak months have been around a while. There’s an end in sight though. A sunny day here. A day that feels like spring there. The cloud cover briefly breaks, but holds firm again like a door refusing to stay open. The sun gets pushed back each time she peaks out. The trees are attempting to wake up though. A few buds are visible. Pink and white buds are just starting to make their colors visible. There’s bird song in the mornings. Tweets literally float into my bedroom on the breeze. (I’m keeping my windows open, even when it’s in the 30s or 40s. I told you we were friends now.)
Spring and I have been lovers my whole life. This is my first year in love with winter though. My heart needs just a few more cold days. A few more moments laying in piles of my softest clothes in the brittle grass. All under the still gray sky.