an ode to winter
a love letter to the season that gets the most flak
I wrote this piece a little while ago as a note to self to cheer myself up as the notoriously bone-chilling months of winter began to roll in. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to publish it since it’s unlike most of the writing I do, but given the white sheet of snow that just touched down in Toronto, carelessly cancelling flights, closing schools, freezing streets, and being generally unconcerned with the damage it would do to its already harsh and bitter reputation, I thought: why not pop in with a little winter cheer? Hopefully this piece points out a detail or two about winter that brings you some joy or at least stimulates that mmm, cozy feeling that, in my opinion, is what winter is all about.
As soon as winter rolls around, most people default into this submissive state where they accept that the next five months are going to be dark, cold, and sad. But I actually love winter. Not all of it, but a lot of it. Could it be a few weeks shorter? Sure. But nothing is perfect, especially weather (there is practically no mutually agreed upon ‘perfect place for weather’ in the world to my knowledge), so I have strung together some of my favourite details about winter in an effort to soften its usual jarring, chilly, several month long blows.
winter glory
There is a certain calmness to winter mornings. The steam coming off of coffee a little thicker, a little faster into the cold air. Glasses foggy from the sharp temperature change of going from cold to hot when stepping inside. The tightness of layers of clothing pressing against each other with each step—a little mobility restriction at the price of a little more warmth. A cold gust of air piercing the exposed skin you missed while assembling your winter armour. The extra force you exert on the ground with each step on an icy sidewalk to avoid slipping. The trees dressed up in their white robes, snow draping their branches like a blanket to protect them from cold air.
Everyone’s winter accessories—hats, gloves, scarves, ear muffs—lazily pulled on before they slipped outside to take their first breath of the crisp air. Nothing wakes you up like that first breath—the one that widens your eyes and triggers a shake that runs through your whole body to acclimate to the outdoor temperature. The dogs walking by you in four-legged winter jackets. The sound of hockey sticks hitting the side street a few blocks away. The mittens of a 6 year old dangling from his jacket, pinned to his sleeves to prevent them from hitting the ground. The sound of salt crunching under boots still stained from last year’s ice-slush-salt concoction. The sight of a hockey bag shimmying into the trunk of a mini van. The pompoms on everyone’s toques bouncing cheerfully in front of you. Hot drinks gripped tightly by passersby, either in reusable mugs, the local café to go cups, or the trademark Starbucks holiday cups that any North American could spot from a block away.
Inside coffee shops, jackets rest lazily on the backs of chairs. Some people’s hats stay on while others are off, the hair underneath rustled slightly from being contained in toques all morning. Extra layers poke through winter outfits. Turtlenecks under sweaters. Long johns poke out from under jeans. Thick socks creep above the lip of boots.
Outside, snowflakes fall onto eyelashes and faces gently like light forehead kisses. Newly ornamented streets are doused with hints of Christmas. French vanilla lights paint the streets with a subtle golden glow, polishing the whole thing together like the final strokes of decorative frosting on a cake.
The first breath after stepping inside is like a sip of warm soup. Your shoulders drop. Your eyelids close in a sigh of relaxation. You tear off your boots, clacking them together to dislodge the salt stuck in the tread of their underbelly. Damp, cold socks get pulled off to be replaced with warm, fuzzy ones as soon as you step off the infamously wet-front-door-carpet. You sprint upstairs to pull on the huge, soft trademark winter sweater that drapes over your limbs like a big blanket. You quickly douse your dry winter lips with chapstick, rubbing them together, soaking in the rejuvenating feeling of soft lips.
Skis, poles, skates, snowboards lean against the walls in the hallway. Coats are draped over railings and bust out of cupboards. Recently used mittens and hats lie over the heating vents, drying out after a long day in the snow. The scent of warm baked goods fills the air. The warmth from the oven draws everyone to the kitchen.
Coffee tables fill up with cozy holiday themed candles: peppermint, pine, sugar cookies. Balls of yarn and knitting needles rest patiently on tables, waiting to be picked back up. Big, heavy mugs with the last bits of hot chocolate rest defiantly next to the coffee table books.
Shovels lean against the door frame outside, waiting for their chance to clear the driveway. Thick, fluffy snowflakes are falling, painting the whole scene white. You get close enough to the window so that it feels like you’re in a snow globe, but not too close to let the window’s outside chill reach your body. You eventually peel away from the sight and curl up on the couch under a heavy blanket to thaw, tucked away from all the painful parts of winter with all the best parts of the season swaddling you. You put on a Christmas movie. You curl up tighter, exhale deeply, and think to yourself: maybe winter isn’t so bad after all.
The best parts of winter only reveal themselves when you decide to look for the beauty in the season. It’s easy to complain about the cold, to brood about having to shovel and bundle up. But winter is also cozy, mesmerizing, cheerful. And, sure, the cold stings (coming from someone with poor circulation and a chronic tendency to lose every winter accessory I have ever acquired, I know this, I promise), but that doesn’t have to erase its lovely parts as well.
There’s a Joan Didion quote I love about the benefits of a little resistance.
When she was asked in this interview about the advantages of being a female writer (an unusual instance at the time), she said:
“The advantages would probably be precisely the same as the disadvantages. A certain amount of resistance is good for anybody. It keeps you awake.”
This captures how I feel about winter quite well. Clearly there is resistance. The cold makes things harder, less inviting, more frictional. But friction isn’t all bad. Like Joan says: resistance keeps you awake. And nothing wakes me up faster or more acutely than that first breath of winter air in the morning. Some people take cold showers to face resistance, I just step outside between November 1st to April 1st, and usually that’s enough. It’s like an espresso shot for your whole respiratory system.
While winter has its drawbacks, I encourage all those who get to swaddle themselves in layers of coziness and warmth for the next couple of months to try and look for the beauty in it—the parts that bring a small smile to the corner of your lips. And as for the parts that suck, just call them resistance and view them as caffeine for the soul. Because winter, for all the shivers and dry skin it causes, is a beautiful season meant to be revelled in. And most importantly, it’s going to happen anyway, so you might as well enjoy it, in all its chilly glory.
Happy winter, to all those who celebrate :)
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Great post. I often experience winter as a proving ground for my determination to interpret things favorably; everything you write here is true and much of it is beautiful, so when I fail to perceive these and other lovely elements of winter, it feels like almost volitional moodiness! A piece like this helps focus the mind, so thank you!
To me, Winter is Quiet. In that dampened, muted pause, Spring formulates its impending rebirth and renewal. Like the in breath before the first note.