Our little attic loft room provides a cozy respite from winter, and an ideal nook in which to read and pass a quiet evening. Andy found a room heater that works wonders, but on days where we try to conserve energy, when the cold from outside hasn’t entirely permeated the space, I find that a few candles lit throughout the day manage to keep things toasty enough. 

They also provide a warm glow that is easier on the eyes and countenance than all of the modern LED coolness. Outside the lone window of the space, I can spy snow nestled in the boughs of an old pine tree, and below in the yard there are the remnants of a summer not-quite-well-spent. There are seeds to next summer planted there as well, seeds of hope buried beneath the snow, waiting only for the right combination of light and warmth to ignite their new season. 

Winter was always the sad season, and as much as I have tried to learn to embrace it, it remains the season of somber sobriety. I’m not minding that as much this year. Finding the way to an acceptance of it is an important part of looking over the edge of middle age. If one’s life is divided into seasonal sections, mine is about to surrender summer to fall.

That is the only certain precursor to winter.

And so I hunker down, getting busy with the emotional tasks at hand, while outside the snow and wind rages, interspersed with brilliant bits of blue sky and white sun. Shadows elongate, yet so too does the daylight, growing a little longer with each passing week. Without hurry or rush, the days and weeks unfold as they will. With a deep breath, and a patient, measured exhalation, I lean into winter.  

Some people get a little sad when taking down the holiday decor they’ve amassed and assembled in the spirit of the season. By this point in the year, I’m grateful and welcoming of the fresh start and clean slate that instantly presents itself upon removing all the Christmas decorations. In our Boston place, that means taking down this wall of curtains that served to make things a little more cozy during our holiday gatherings. 

These colorful dividers created a little nook of a space between the living room and bedroom, right near the wooden, gas-lamp-bracketed wet bar and mirror, harkening to some lifetime and era long before my own. It lended an intimacy to the high-ceilings, and provided a little escapade for guests who wanted a quiet moment in semi-privacy. Such secrecy seems ideal for hushed holidays, but my mind is on spring, and as we approach that I want to open things back up again. 

Do ignore my random blue sneaker. Real life has a way of sneaking into the most fantastical moments of imagination and whimsy.