There’s something I need to articulate.
There is something in me that needs to be cold.
I have a hunger for frost. My tongue is eager to catch snowflakes and my cheeks long to be made rosy from effort while the rest of my face is white and waxy in the frigid air. I crave the stillness of the snowfall and the starkness of the tree branches.
I love the light. I love when an abbreviated winter day relents quietly, fades easily backward to let the long night in early. I can’t pretend to understand what I mean exactly, but the sunset in winter turns the exact colour of heartbreak, and I can feel it spreading all through me, melancholy and knowing and beautiful, when I look at the sky.
When I see the same impossibly golden sun tinting the undersides of pine branches and making perfect Group of Seven silhouettes of them against the horizon, there is something I need to articulate, and I have no idea what it is but it makes me want to live forever and die immediately in the same instant.
I love the crispness, the harshness of the wind and the softness of the landscape. I love the solitude and the silence after all the migratory things have up and left. It’s quiet enough to hear myself think. There is enough resistance that my circulation pumps steadily. Winter makes me alive, awake and dreamy all at once.
I’m not really sure what that means or if it makes any sense. But I’ll be outside if you need me. This is the season for leaving footprints.