Winter came in one night, kind of like a thief through the
backdoor, completely unexpected, and instantly made me forget what the warmth
of the sun feels like. Most of the time, when seasons change, it’s gradual, you
know, the leaves change color, the days start to cool off, everyday night
creeps in earlier and earlier, and the first flake of snow is always memorable;
winter has finally arrived. Other
times, it’s like nature decides to make up for lost time. One day you’re in
shorts, and the next a scarf and coat. That’s what this winter was like; it
came up and hit me between the eyes, leaving me weak and dizzy. The days have
grown shorter, but the time it takes to get through them drags, and drags, ever
so slowly, like molasses running down a tree when it’s snowing. Getting
out of bed is an effort. It’s so much easier to lay there in its warm comfort
and sleep the day away, but you can only make yourself sleep for so long…
eventually you have to get up and
face the cold that wants to reside in your bones. But at least there’s
hot coffee to look forward to.
I’ve
always liked winter though, it’s beautiful, pristine, and yet, it’s a sort of
paradox. See, winter is a time of testing for the living. The days grow
shorter, and nights get colder, the wind rips through your warmest coat, people
get sick, some die … but it’s also a time for resting. Bears hibernate, and
people tend to sleep a lot and stay inside where it’s warm. And that’s where
the paradox comes in. Resting has a certain beauty to it. You ever see a child
take a nap after running around all afternoon? It’s probably one of the best
things to witness. How can something with so much life and energy, then
crash and be completely unconscious, wholly oblivious to the world? But in
winter, with the tranquility of rest comes death. Winter is a time to die.
Underneath the blanket of snow lies soil, resting, getting prepared for spring,
restoring the nutrients it needs to sustain life, but the life that the soil
sustains is slowly dying on the outside, and sometimes on the inside as well. The
tree you see that’s completely barren of all leaf and fruit, it’s resting,
getting prepared for a time of new life, but before it can bare that new life,
everything else first needs to die. I think that’s why winter comes with an
eerie, subtle, soft tranquility. The death is slow, quiet, but it’s hard to
look past the beauty surrounding it.
I
think that’s why spring is so beautiful. We've journeyed through the darkness
of winter, we've mourned the death of those who were too frail to make it
through, but with death comes life, and spring brings it anew. The birds sing
new songs, praising the sun for its warmth, and they dance, delighting in each
other’s company. The snow that blanketed the meadows melts, and nature knits a
quilt of blossoming flowers; reds, yellows, purples, and blues. The bears wake
up, and the people begin to emerge from their houses, itching to get the
dormancy of winter out of their bones, eager for what the new season will bring.
The winter has strengthened them. They’re harder, wiser. No one goes through
testing and is the same person on the other side. Something in them has died,
but they’re still alive, and only time will tell what kind of life will emerge
next.
But for
now, that’s wishful thinking. I’m still under the shadow of winter, slowly
dying, I can only hope to make it through to spring; I’ve always loved spring. The
only problem is it’s hot outside … it’s still summer … winter has yet to come …
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