Walking from lunch back to her office, her long scarf wrapped around her neck several times so she could tuck the tip of her nose in its folds, and her hands, sheathed in thick fleece mittens shoved deep in her long wool coat pockets, Allison wondered when it was she first fell in love with winter.
It was cold today. Really cold. The sky was a flat gray, coloring everything dark brown, slate blue and charcoal black. Bare tree limbs scrawled against the greyness in lithe lines of elegant calligraphy. The few songless birds on them sat perfectly still, their puffed feathers flapping in the icy breeze. So beautiful, Allison thought. So incredibly beautiful.
Stormy nights and blustery days. Bundling up in cozy sweaters and sitting by a fireplace. Or, sitting on the old radiator in the hall outside the office. A long walk on an empty, bleak, wind-torn, grey beach. When did winter become so welcome, like a long absent lover? When did I fall in love with winter?
“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, “Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.” ― Lewis Carroll,
Post inspired by a remark a co-worker made on our way back from lunch.