Lighting a cadre of candles to make a stand against the cold, pulling a fuzzy robe a little closer around my neck, and setting up a pot of tea, I conjure the spirit of hygge. This is how we embrace the winter rather than stave it off – the latter being an impossible mission, we might as well admit. The days go much easier when we bend with their general flow instead of fighting against them. I wish I’d understood that a few decades ago.
Here is a little song to echo the blanket of snow that covers the outside world right now.
It’s a muted song, for a muted morning, in a world of blankets. Before the work day begins, and before the sky has lightened and turned whatever shade of gray we will get for the morning, I putter quietly around the living room while the tea kettle warms. Hello, winter, the soul implores, begging for the response to be kind and, dare we wish for such a thing, warm.
Most days there is no answer, such as on this morning. Only quiet and silence and the muted sense that things are in a state of slumber. It’s better than when the answer is a storm, when the winter claps back with a scowl and a threat. Softness is welcome. Kindness appreciated. The lack of an answer is just an answer to another question. Winter winds its madness around the brain like cold hands around a cup of tea.
The kettle squeals. The day begins.
