Today was the first official day of winter.
Winter is always hard for me. I am truly at heart, a summer child. Born in the heat of August, I detest the cold and have since I probably drew my first breath.
I hate snow after the first two minutes it starts falling. My fingers and toes cry out in pain when it is cold. I hate the loneliness of winter. The stark trees so quiet, their torpor unbearable to observe. Despite the aesthetic beauty of a tree in winter, I feel grief when I see them, reaching with barren fingers towards heaven. It is a tragic picture for me, which conjures thoughts of love lost and isolation.
It wasn’t always this way for me. I remember when I was younger, my siblings and I looked forward to the snow. I remember peering out the kitchen window, watching snow floating so prettily in the sky. We would build forts and caves out of the snow piled up by the snow plows at the end of our court. We would slide, jump and frolic and it never mattered if our hands and feet were numb from the cold. Hot soup, cartoons and blankets were waiting inside for us. The cares and worries of adulthood were not known to me. Troubles like driving in snow and crashing your car or leaving home in total darkness and returning in the same.
I don’t know when that happy feeling went away and left this sorrow in its place. It happened gradually, with every winter feeling a little less joyful than the last until one day, it was winter and I realized I hated it with almost every part of my heart.
When I think about it, I have to acknowledge that perhaps it is the fact that I am older. My body and my soul are not as new as they used to be. There is no question that winter tastes like mortality. And mortality is something nobody likes to think about.
Springtime is a lack of experience and winter is the culmination of experience. I want to be in between these extremes. I yearn for the summer sun to shine on my face, freckling my cheeks. I want occasional thunderstorms where I can walk through fat, lazy raindrops, barefoot and umbrella-less through puddles of mud. I want noisy, boisterous adventures where I enjoy myself, but also discover new things. I want to swim, and sit by bonfires with my friends, chattering about our lives while swatting mosquitoes (yes mosquitoes) and drinking cold drinks from plastic glasses and elaborate, twisty straws. I want to go fishing at night where I can stare into the heavens at the stars while I wait for something to bite.
Winter, there are those who love you. I am not one of those individuals. When you have me locked in your icy arms, I think only of being united with the season that owns my heart. Summer, I am waiting for you.