Winter

[gothwalk]

I seem to spend a lot of my time wishing it was another season. In spring, I want it to stop being windy and get on and be summer. In summer, I want it to hurry the hell up, stop being hot and get on to autumn. In autumn, I can't wait until the first frosts. In winter, I sometimes want some heat. It's that sometimes that gets me, though - it's not very often I want winter to end.

Yet that isn't really because I like being cold - although I do - or because I like the dark evenings - although again, I do - but because of this idealised idea I have of winter.

I don't know if the idealised winter is from early childhood - it might be - or from books, or music, or illustrations, or films, or even poetry.

It includes:

An image of beech trees above a ploughed field, frost on the ground, a spaniel nearby.

Open fires.

Stew.

Moonlight through high windows with curtains.

Warmth and yellow light.

Scarves.

Carrying firewood in a wide basket.

Writing longhand.

A warm bed with rails, piles of pillows.

And a feeling that seems undefinable.

So yeah, I want it to hurry up and stop being hot.

Comments

[gwynraven.livejournal.com]

I feel the exact same way about winter. If I were asked to come up with one place or situation where I would feel the most comfortable and happy it would be curled up on a chair in front of the fire in a room that's just a little on the frosty side, wearing jeans and a loose Irish fisherman's sweater, and thick wooly socks, drinking hot tea and watching the snow come down in the darkness outside.

Of course I had to decide to live in SC.
grr . . . now I want it to be winter again.