I didn’t mean that the way it sounded, I assure you. It’s just all in how you understand winter. “Winter” comes every year at the same time, if you are refering to the Northern Hemisphere pulling back from the sun, casting us all into relative dark and cold. And, just to add insult to injury, not only are we further from the sun, but we also get more clouds all during winter. It is bound to be gloomy, drear, depressing, dark, and damp. I am not particularly happy about the arrival of that winter, thank you very much.
But Winter has arrived—the Winter that means when the sun does peek out, the whole landscape lights up in brilliant reflection, soothing a little the inward ache from lack of sunlight. We are no more driven inside than normal, but now we have a good excuse. It pathetic whining to say you don’t want to be outside because it is barely above freezing and cloudy and drizzly and dark. One can feel a little more justified when it’s beneath 20 degrees, and with a bitter wind.
If I have to winter, I am glad to have the consolations of Winter. I am happy to see every twig and branch of creation sparkling in their jewel-coats in the morning. I am happy for the blankets of white to cover the dead and exhausted ground. I am happy for the delicate icicles lining the window like lace.
Winter, with the small “w”, is bound to come every year. But I have been through enough annoying winters where Winter just didn’t want to come. It would get just warm enough for the snow to melt off before getting bitterly cold again. It would rain, and then freeze over in awful ice, but still refuse to dump a good snow coat. Even when the sun would manage to peek out, its pale rays would weakly wash the the drab earth, and then disappear before truly lighting anything. You were “supposed” to be glad that we were having such a “mild” winter, but inside you couldn’t be help long for Winter—the accomodations of Winter to take away some of the ugliness and hard-heartedness of winter.
I suppose some of you want to say it is safer with “mild” winters, but I can hardly agree. I have found ice to be far more dangerous than snow, and ice is prone to come quite frequently when the temperatures only dance around the freezing points—a few degrees above, a few degrees below, and everything is covered with a wicked layer of ice, far more dangerous than a crunching inch of snow. Accidents on the road are not done away with; the road is cleared by the sun of all snow and ice, and everything looks perfectly safe—until you come upon a sudden shady spot, lying in wait for the unsuspecting.
Every year, winter will come, and I dread it. But when winter is here, I look hopefully to Winter. Today Winter is here, and I hope it stays until winter is gone.