Winter songs, at least the one’s I enjoy at the moment, should be quieter moments, acoustic-like and simple, with perhaps a bit of a dour undercurrent. Especially before the onslaught of a winter storm, such as in the predicament in which we currently find ourselves in New York. Here’s a comforting one to pass the morning, a gorgeous bit of music by the aptly-named Zach Winters:
January 6 is also often referred to as the saddest day of the year, so this song resonates a little deeper. I’m leaning into the sadness this winter, finding ways of co-existing with it rather than fighting or trying to distract myself with other baubly bits of whimsy and frivolity. My life provide enough of those – I want to focus on the melancholy – not get drowned or bogged down by it – but simply experience it, feel it, let it wreak its stretches of crying, let it wring the tears and allow them to fall. Such salty water is heavy, and better drained than retained.
I’m also learning to accept love from others as a way of working through the heartache. Andy came home with our first pot of hyacinths for the season – a trio of violet bulbs that began blooming almost the second he brought them in the door. They smelled of spring, of hope, of a time less foreboding. They felt like a hug from my husband – always welcome, always needed.
