Winter

A wrinkled crabbed man they picture thee,

Old Winter, with a rugged beard as grey

As the long moss upon the apple tree;

Blue-lipt, an icedrop at thy sharp blue nose

Close muffled up, and on thy dreary way

Plodding alone through sleet and drifting snows.

They should have drawn thee by the high-heapt hearth,

Old Winter! seated in thy great armed chair,

Watching the children at their Christmas mirth;

Or circled by them as thy lips declare

Some merry jest, or tale of murder dire,

Or troubled spirits that disturbs the night,

Pausing at times to rouse the mouldering fire,

Or taste the old October brown and bright.

-Winter, Robert Southey

(picture by Chris)

Today is the Winter Solstice. I love knowing that. I love each seasons change. Each just long enough to enjoy, not so long that you grow weary of it. Winter is a season most dislike. But I find great comfort in the winter. Winter is a season for savoring long, quiet stretches of just being. It's a season for a bit of solitude. Winter is the season of snow, so beautifully peaceful. Winter is the season for hot chocolate and warm fires. It's a time for huddling under blankets in the comfortable presence of someone dear. It is the season of rest. The earth goes to sleep and rejuvinates it's soul so that at Spring's arrival it can burst forth in energetic displays of color. It seems to me the human soul needs the same. I find with each new year that my melancholy spirit settles into winter especially well. A season of rest. Quiet. I do love a long stretch of quiet.