I heard it this morning as the sun rose and turned the sky into watercolor clouds gently bleeding light into the day. The ever soft whooshing sound of flight. The sound my Grandmother said was what angels sound like when they fly. This morning, on the wings of geese I heard angels remind me of the return of Winter.
There is a stillness and sense of respite to winter. A slowness forced upon us as we layer clothes and choose our actions deliberately with the reckless abandonment of summer days behind us. The return of the favorite hoody and sweaters that have unraveled over the years as we all do. The chill in the air that reminds you to warm your bones. There is magic in winter.
Snow will come. Each flake floating a moment before it settles, almost pausing time itself. The snow that will soon fall and leave the ground coated in a powder that glimmers like diamonds and fairy wings underneath street lamps.
There is a heartiness to winter that can’t be ignored. Soon there will be soup on the stove, chicken and dumplings that stick to your ribs. An excuse to turn on the oven and make a feast to warm the house and feed souls.
Finally a moment to light the fireplace. Listen to the wood as it howls and hisses the command to read a book and turn off the TV. There is stillness in winter.
The cold outside that reminds you where you find warmth. The cold that keeps you in bed snuggled up without sweating and sticking together. The cold outside that tells you to protect yourself from the elements. The cold that somehow belays subtle confidence through a wardrobe because any outfit is more forgiving than a swimsuit. In winter our perceived flaws aren’t on parade. There is a confidence to winter.
Too many long days until Thanksgiving when my heart is really whole. The day I am grateful for, gifting me the feeling that holds me through another year. Just a few more knocks on the door before we hear “trick or treat”. A few more long days before the first snow comes and we celebrate with home made hot chocolate. A few more days until the days themselves get shorter and the sunsets come sooner.
There is darkness in winter. External darkness reminding us that nothing can be bright all the time. A darkness that subtly illuminates an understanding in us that sometimes we are the shadows of our selves that we would normally cast when the world itself is a brighter place. The darkness that settles in slowly over days until we find a match, spark a flame actively seeking the light and warmth. We remember that it isn’t always dark, but winter dark makes us so grateful when the light returns. The light will always return. There is a reassurance to winter.
In the dead of winter there are those moments of relief when we need them most. When the seemingly elusive sun warms your skin as you drive, so you pull up your sleeves and bask in the moment and look forward to warmer days. A shower too hot to take on a summer day steals the shivers from your bones before they crack. The snow day forcing us all to play hooky, or truth be told to maybe get caught up. Finally. Even though we tire of feeling the cold day after day, longing for the sun, we hold on to a joy that spring will arrive on the footsteps of that last cold day. Winter reminds us to look forward to something.
But today, I look forward to winter.
There is so much joy in winter sleeping soundly around every corner.
Time and stillness to do those things we don’t in the dog days because we say we are too busy. The chance to work on the bike because the roads dictate you can’t ride but you still need moto time. Opportunity to bring out all the minis that need to be painted. Guilt free binging on home made pies. Butter that doesn’t melt in the dish. Snuggling. Feeling joy in a hot cup of coffee that warms your hands while wrapped up in a blanket safe from cold. Knitting by the fire. Weather that demands posole. Winter demands we comfort ourselves and others.
Winter is full of the simple things that we so often forget. There truly is comfort and joy in winter.
Until it is here, that first truly too cold day. I will play. I will play on the fields of grass. I will drive with the windows down and hair up. I will ride into the hills to see the leaves change like a cliche tourist and marvel at the hills set ablaze in color. I will venture to a park to write on benches still hot enough to burn my legs. I will intentionally forget to put on sunscreen so I can see the tan lines of summer time and look forward to earning them again.
Winter is coming, I heard it on the wings of angels.