A Winter’s Farewell
Today is 80 degrees and sunny, so the woman on my alarm clock radio claims. Warm with a breeze, she says. At 11:57am, sitting next to an open window in a t-shirt, I can confirm she is correct.
It’s late March here where I live, the time of year when the last traces of winter start to fade. The flowers are in bloom and the temperatures climbing. The olive tree in my apartment is budding bright green leaves and the sweaters in my closet suddenly feel stuffy hanging next to linen shirts. Spring is here, summer is coming, and winter has stepped aside for another year, back to the sleepy hibernation from which it came.
When I tell people I love winter, I get a lot of strange looks. Much like when I used to say I lived in New York City and the typical response was “Ugh, I could never live there.” This is what everyone thinks about the places that are loud and busy and famous for their bustling. But that’s not the New York I lived in. No local goes to Times Square unless they’re seeing a Broadway show, and even then we tend to stick to 9th Ave. No one knows the New York I love, besides those who love it too. No one knows the winter I miss when the warm weather comes. They’re looking in all the wrong places.
I can’t help but feel the slightest bit blue as I fold away my favorite turtleneck. I get a little melancholy when I think about nights curled in a blanket, a glass of red wine in hand while a cold wind whirls outside. I miss the colors of a February sunset, pale, pastel, and gentle in comparison to the fiery shades of August. I even miss the way my hair feels in dry, brisk air, free from the frizz of a July heat. When I hear people cheer at winter’s end, I feel sorry. For them, for it. A season misunderstood and bypassed while we wish for warmer days ahead.
My Dad says winter is depressing because everything is dead. He’s not wrong about the dying. That’s how it looks when the trees turn brown and the ground goes hard. But this isn’t death. It’s rest. A time when the earth gives permission to stop, to sleep, to be. The world is a busy place and I think she knows. She knows we’re excitable and ambitious. She knows the energy it takes to live in her today, the year we’ve had, how hard we work. Just as animals hibernate for spring, we too need rest, even if rest is forced. And so the earth goes dark. She draws her shades and takes off her jewelry. She sheds her beauty so we can close our eyes and tucks us into comfort while we dream.
I once told a friend cold weather is exciting. Perhaps it’s my love of soft sweaters or the simmering soup on the stove that brings a thrill when the air starts to bite. Perhaps it’s the late night Manhattan and candlelight chess, or the sunset walks while the sky turns to dusk over empty city streets. Perhaps it’s the way my hair gets darker and my skin pales, the way a black scarf brings out the blue in my eyes. Maybe in the depths of winter’s darkness, I see glowing orange embers waiting for brighter days to come.
The woman on my alarm clock radio says tomorrow will be beautiful, and the app on my phone says springtime weather is here to stay. My season of quiet is over, my days of cold are gone. We’ve rested and she’s left us, ready for winter’s greatest gift of all.