The Seasons Change
These weeks after we go back to Standard Time, the weeks between the first of November and the Yule season, carry a unique magic for me. While my morning commute is bright and sunny, with the mountains lit in the colors of the sunrise, my evening commute has me driving in early twilight, when everything turns blue and grey and a certain silence falls over everything.
We have had a long, warm, sunny autumn. The snow that usually comes the third week of October never materialized. We were still using fans in the windows, changing into shorts by mid-morning, and getting sunburns while being outdoors. It would cool at night into the 50’s, but days in the 70’s, even the 80’s, were not unusual. We were headed into the second week of November before the “S”-word entered our forecast.
Monday dawned mostly clear, with a few high, thin clouds. The sunrise was spectacular, and when I left for work the nearest mountains were bathed in pinks and purples. Up high, though, where the white peaks usually stand out against the rosy sky, there was a thick ridge of blue-grey, the mountain-tops obscured. It was 65 degrees, and climbing. How could there be snow in the forecast?
By 11 a.m., clouds had taken over, the temperature had dropped 20 degrees, and we saw the first snowflakes. I let my office at noon to run a few errands, and it was snowing in earnest by then, with the temperature already below freezing. The afternoon proceeded with heavy flurries, and dropping temperatures.
My commute home had me in the blue twilight, with a dusting of snow covering everything. It was a first glimpse of what was to come. Winter had arrived, spreading its desolate, lonely blanket over everything. I like this time of year. I like when winter comes, whether it sneaks in with a quick, heavy overnight snowfall that shines like diamonds in the morning sun, or whether it comes in as a screaming upslope storm. Our flurries of Monday turned into an upslope storm. Two days later, we have five inches of powder on the ground, and bitter cold temperatures. It is hard to believe I was wearing shorts on Sunday, or that I still had windows open in the house when I got out of bed on Monday morning.
Winter, to me, is a time to recuperate from a long, busy summer. It is a time to slow down, and to enjoy the warmer, cozier things of life. A time to enjoy cookies fresh from the oven, hot soups simmered on the stove, warm fleece pullovers, sleeping under a layer of blankets, enjoying the crisp bite of the air on your bare cheeks when you go outside. There is a beauty to all seasons, even winter. If we had no winter, we would not appreciate summer. Without winter, our plants would not grow in the spring. Without winter, my state would have a lot less tax revenue from tourists on the ski slopes.
I hear lots of complaining this time of year. “I’m not ready,” or “no!” or “not here!” or “I hate snow!” These same people will be complaining next summer when it is “too hot.” You have choices – you don’t have to live in a place that has snow, if you don’t want to. Just like I don’t have to live in a place that has too much heat.
I embrace winter. I embrace that lonely, desolate time. I embrace the dark nights, the season of quiet and solitude. I will wonder for a week or two about what I should do with my abundant amounts of free time, but I will fill it, the way I always fill free time. I will crochet a little more, read a little more, rest a little more, get ready for a busy season of eating and presents and parties. I will embrace the winter, as I do the spring, and as I do the summer, and the fall.
It is a magical world I live in. Part of that magic is the variety of the seasons. I wouldn’t trade that for anything.
