The Oddity of the Winter Season.
"That is another of your odd notions," said the Prefect,
who had a fashion of calling every thing "odd"
that was beyond his comprehension,
and thus lived amid
an absolute legion of "oddities."
E.A. Poe
When the air is thick with the threat of snow, when the cold air stands crisp as opposed to being frigid, I wittiness the wood smoke rise from the chimney and hearth to ride the night air like children on the family toboggan. The sight and the smell of wood smoke playing in the night air serves to remind me that the season contains within it the seeds of play, of warmth, and a time of revelry.
Hhibernation is not our calling.
The pines stand tall stabbing at the night sky acting as sentries standing watch; looking for that first blanket of snow. In unison they will catch the falling snow only to later gently lower their limbs and allow the snow to become rightfully possessed by the earth. Only a brief interruption, a playful cradling, the pines return to their post until the next storm arrives when they will repeat their winter game just for the fun of it.
I look forward to having guests over. A warm fire, good food. Sitting content, I will light my pipe and let the rich smell of her smoke permeate the house. The smoke will rise and dance with the laughter of the evening and my smile will resonate deep; to the core of my soul. In spring we plan, we plant, we ready ourselves for the growing season. Summer is work, and fun, and long days are capped with dark starry nights. Autumn brings forth bounty and color and celebration. But winter is an embracing.
It is like holding your children close. It is like the embrace and kiss between you and your lover. It is like snuggling down deep into your bed on a cold morning only because you can. Like finishing a good book, having a fine scotch, perhaps a cigar in the tub, it is contentment at its best. The dog curled before the fire with nary a care in the world. Only dreams of late spring planting, summer surprises, autumn's color and bounty...and perhaps a farm with Yaks.
Hhibernation is not our calling.
The pines stand tall stabbing at the night sky acting as sentries standing watch; looking for that first blanket of snow. In unison they will catch the falling snow only to later gently lower their limbs and allow the snow to become rightfully possessed by the earth. Only a brief interruption, a playful cradling, the pines return to their post until the next storm arrives when they will repeat their winter game just for the fun of it.
I look forward to having guests over. A warm fire, good food. Sitting content, I will light my pipe and let the rich smell of her smoke permeate the house. The smoke will rise and dance with the laughter of the evening and my smile will resonate deep; to the core of my soul. In spring we plan, we plant, we ready ourselves for the growing season. Summer is work, and fun, and long days are capped with dark starry nights. Autumn brings forth bounty and color and celebration. But winter is an embracing.
It is like holding your children close. It is like the embrace and kiss between you and your lover. It is like snuggling down deep into your bed on a cold morning only because you can. Like finishing a good book, having a fine scotch, perhaps a cigar in the tub, it is contentment at its best. The dog curled before the fire with nary a care in the world. Only dreams of late spring planting, summer surprises, autumn's color and bounty...and perhaps a farm with Yaks.
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