Winter, what does that word conjure up for you? Coming into the warm after being in the cold. Growing up on the farm, it was a warm cow barn, new calves, molasses on the feed, and sneaking a little bit for myself from the barrel. It was a slow time, time to dream, time to fix what you didn't have time to fix in the summer or fall, the aroma of silage in the silos. The light was different then, too, with a gentle golden pinkness towards the end of a day.
Winter was also harsh, walking a mile to the bus stop, digging out after a storm, trying to keep the ice out of the ditches. Even fun was cold and often wet with sledding and ice skating to do. But there was always the knowledge of warmth waiting for us; warmth, hearty food, cats and dogs on laps and feet, the heat from the big black wood-burning stove, something warm to drink, generally chamomile tea, gathered in the summer and carrying with it the scent of warm July days.
It is winter and I am warm. There is tea to drink, which warms from the inside out. There are still cats to warm my lap. Life is good.