The White of Winter

A romance with time.

I think of winter and I see clear visions that spark, heavy boughs of white clinging to the pine and dried weeds strong enough to stand among the white ice crusted velvet scape. Berries of red frozen in the ice. The yellow and brown hues of the autumn didn’t escape before the storm. The blistery cold makes me shiver, I warm my bones with a cup of hot chocolate, nestled in warm clothing and my nose is cold. I watch the storm hit. The wind blows swiftly, the beauty of it all, if I have nothing I have this. I have ribbons, carols, color, lights, sparkle, laughter, wonder, delight. The most cherished times and the grandest stories to be told all belong to this season. The fire burns, chestnuts roast, cookies are baking, candy is making, trees are going up, hand made gifts are being crafted, greetings are sent, carols are sung, movies are watched, history is passed down and excitement grows.

Every year, I hear, “You’ll never be able to out do this one.” Skaters are on the pond, soon to rush in to hear the sounds of music and look at the trees. Drink the cocoa, some say, “I’ve waited for this day all year!” Grown men have jumped up and down by the site of my home or my tiny little apartment and exclaimed, “It’s here! It smells like Christmas!” I laugh with a gleam and frost to my eyes. There is a child in us all. This is the time we can love, fill magic, and believe it is so. I believe it so all year. For others it allows them to let go, so I watch and smile. I watch nice things done for others. Kindness comes from hearts. Understanding is without measure. I love you’s are real.

Now that I don’t have that home anymore in the last three years, which the skaters can come, nothing else has changed; I still do this when although I am alone.

When I think of winter I think of white.