The winter winds seem to hang on. They don’t seem to want to go anywhere but right out there, swirling around in the front yard. They whistle against the garage thermometer with a frigid song from the north west. They dare the trees to pretend that they feel the warming winds of spring. They huddle deep in the woods, behind the bluff, around the corner and then strike without notice, without a care in the world, without a thought to how self centered and disrespectful they actually are.
As chilling to the bone as they can be, down they come, day after day, week after month, until we beg for a temperature reading of thirty above. Never ending sheets of ice and snow. Frozen ground under a blanket of white. Whistlers of the wood, chorusing through the pine, fir and naked fingers of ash, maple and oak.
How long these winter months seem to last. I remember as a child, how long the summer months seemed to stretch out across my youthful delight. That same never ending memory clutches tightly to my frozen days of youth , ridding it of thoughts of warmer days just around the bend.
The cold didn’t seem to affect the spirit of my adolescence , but rather energized it and set my never ending bundle of boyish energy in motion. “Bring on the cold!”, I shouted from the depths of my beating heart. “Long live winter!”, I screamed at the top of my exuberant voice. The colder, the better. The deeper the snow, the longer the fun. The more layers of clothes I had to put on, the longer I could stay out in the festival of frolic. When I think back to the cold, to the snow, to the frost on the window panes, to the icicles hanging down to the ground, a warm feeling creeps through my body and reminds me of my youthful love of winter. Those memories are the things that make me smile as I remember. Those are the feelings and the hopes I have for my grandson. they are the same building blocks of generational wonder that I wished upon my son as well. Those feelings are part of the foundation that belongs to those boyish days of old.
Go ahead winter, hang on for dear life. Show off your magnificent power as you normally tend to do. Strut your shades of white like a proud, wintery peacock. Remind us of the days of old when you always had the last frozen word.
I still sit in amazement at the annual showcase from the wonderment of winter. I listen to the howling winds come whipping down from the western mountains and charge across the valley. I listen, and I hear the whispers from the same frozen song that has echoed through the years. It’s a familiar melody. It’s a soothing lullaby from a cold, winter’s night. It’s a chilly, long distance call from a life long friend.
It’s winter, until, it’s winter no more.