A Change of Seasons, A Change of Heart

For the first time in a long time the sun is bright and the birds are chirping endlessly. They chirped before, even in the deep cold, but their song was muffled by a foot of snow on the ground and on the rooftops. They wouldn’t sing for long, and only of a morning as if they were wintering in cuckoo clocks whose tiny doors opened once a day, not once an hour.

Most of the snow melted off yesterday. I could feel the day itself shaking winter off like a bad feeling.

I love winter like I love banana crème pie. That first slice is stupendous - luxurious and heavenly, even. Every bite is as good as the next. I’m sure I want a second slice. As a child I would beg, plead, and assure the grownups I could finish a second slice.

Now I’m the grownup, but the dialogue hasn’t changed. I still think I can finish a second slice. The first bite of that second slice is okay, but the next bite after that is like winter in its final month. It leaves me feeling some kind of way, wanting something else entirely. I start to wonder what I thought was so great about winter.

Everything had been blanketed in thick, crisp, clean white. Every branch of every tree was delicately sculpted. Once hidden in a dark red carpet of leaves and the stubborn browns and grays of undergrowth and fallen branches, the forest floor was made delightfully visible and beckoning. Snow cover gave everything new depth and new texture. It was beautiful and romantic, truly a wonderland.

It took several months for wonder to give way, conceding a sort of closed-in feeling, not like an embrace, rather like being under water for one second too long. Chilled, dark mornings and cold, early nightfalls began to take their toll. No matter how long I was indoors, I still felt cold and my feet still felt wet. Everything smelled cold and wet, warmed up and dried out, but never dry enough.

Article Author: Diana Hartman

Diana (nee Gulick) Hartman is the Culture and Tastes Editor for Blogcritics.org. She is a freelance writer, mother of three, and a (Ret.) US Marine spouse. She is a Wichita, Kansas native, having also lived in the California desert, Southern California, and eastern North Carolina. …

Visit Diana Hartman's author page — Diana Hartman's Blog