In the Cold Places

Winter has settled in and the chill has sunk deep in these Southern bones.

 

I'm not made for this.

This kind of sinking cold that creeps under door jambs and across tile floors, through tightly closed windows and under chin-high bed covers.

This type of cold that requires hats and mittens and layers and layers of blankets over layers and layers of clothes.

 

I'm born of much warmer stuff...

blooming wisteria and budding dogwoods, growing seasons that last long into Fall and farmer's markets that don't close until December and return again in early March.

 

We're likely to wear sandals year round and we treat our wardrobes like onions, more apt to peel layers off than put them back on. 

Swimming pools and sun-soaked beaches, bike rides with shorts in mid-November and Halloweens with air conditioning.

 

 

No, these Winters are not for me, and although my soul revels in late-night mugs of tea under quilted throws with good books for company, my elbows complain about the chapped skin and my toes feel cramped inside laced up boots.

 

I know I've no room to complain, that just north of me the snow is falling and will continue to fall and no one is really accustomed to that much cold.  

 

But, I hope that wherever you are, you're weathering the winter.

I will remember this one for a while.

 

This one that sunk deep into my soul, crept under my skin, and froze these Southern bones.

This one that brought snow flurries and frozen pipes and sick babies.

This one that made us realize just how precious the Spring truly is and left us with a profound gratitude for the warmth that the changing of the seasons will inevitably bring.

 

And so tonight, I'll climb under the covers, and pull them up to my chin, remembering that no matter how deep the cold, it lasts for only a season and Spring is just around the corner.