Dear Winter,
It is now January.
I’ve been thinking about you a lot over the past few days. Your weather has been strange over the past few weeks, at least in Northeast Ohio. It’s been sunny and nearly sixty degrees, but as I write this it is below twenty degrees and snowing so hard it is difficult to see anything outside my window. I have always loved you, or rather, perhaps I have loved the idea of you, the picturesque version of you: a crackling fire in the fireplace while snow falls gently outside and I sip hot chocolate.
The reality of you, winter, especially during this first month of the year, is something completely different. January is the month of finding yourself: humans start making resolutions for the New Year, and you winter, come into your stride. December is a month of blustery cold and surprise moments of warmth, but January is when the snow settles. In January, you darken the skies into a permanent slate gray. The roads are continually covered in a slippery concoction of road salt, ice, and blackened snow. In January, winter truly arrives.
I know many people who complain about you, winter. Teenagers and adults alike grumble and curse your name as they storm out early in the morning to shovel snow off their driveway. Those who commute to work leave thirty minutes early because for some reason, winter, when you release your storms and your snow, it appears that many people forget how to properly operate a car. All that aside, winter, I have learned quite a lot from you over the years, and I think that you deserve a moment of praise.
Winter, more than anything, you have taught me to see the beauty in everything. You bring some of the coldest days and the longest nights. In autumn, the leaves fall from the trees and the grass is a bland, dead brown. Then, when you settle in Winter, when January comes and you drop your snow and your ice, you coat the world in glitter. I love to wake up in the morning and see the ice coating the branches of the trees and the snow building up on the ground. In a season of bare trees and dead flowers, you teach me everyday to appreciate the beauty of nature.
You have taught me to be still, winter. Unlike your brothers and sisters: spring, summer, and fall, you are not a loud season. You lack spring’s exuberant bird song, summer’s concert of insect calls, and fall’s chatter as squirrels, chipmunks, and other animals scurry to collect their belongings in preparation for hibernation. Winter, with your long nights and peaceful snow, you embody stillness. The world seems to hold its breath during your reign. On long walks through the snow, you have taught me to pause. Your frigid temperatures never fail to remind me to pay attention to my breathing, as I can quite literally see my breath in front of me.
Winter, you have taught me to appreciate the warmth in my life. I am always especially grateful for my warm house, loving family, and friends during your cold months. Your frigid temperatures, dangerous ice and gray skies remind me to be grateful that I have a roof over my head and warm clothes. I know that not every human is so lucky. Thank you for reminding me just how wonderful and privileged my life is, winter.
In the beginning of this letter I wrote about my ideal version of you, winter. I know that this vision of you, this stereotypical vision of what you are is only an aspect of what makes you the cold, unforgiving, powerful season that you are. I know you probably receive many complaints from people like me, desperate for the warmth of spring and summer. I hope this letter reassures you, at least in some small way, that you are appreciated.
Thank you for the lessons, winter.
Happy January.
Sincerely,
A Snow-Loving Human
