Winter

Winter is coming.

I love the coming of winter; when the once existent warm weather fights vainly against the in-breaking of the unabashed cold. It's almost as if the coming of this weather covers the whole world with a  blanket of new vision and colour, a new schema with which to understand and really see the world. It’s when you look outside and the lights, which have always looked a certain way during the summer, suddenly have a different hue, a different feel, a new shine. Reaching out of the sky is a west Texas sunset unlike any during Summer because it's painted on a new canvas, a canvas of cold, a canvas of winter days with the windy brushstrokes of whispers and night.

And with these painted eyes the world outside reflects the world within. Life resonates anew with each chill, and new perspective and optimism bloom in the place of retiring green and slumbering sunshine while retreating flowers give way to a settling of contemplation. The life lived in Summer has built up it’s stores in order withdraw into hibernation, with the Winter man just now stretching a glorious stretch of the dawn of a new, grey and blue day.

The smells of coffee and pine swirl around in the slow movements of the air and the cold skin of the faces walking breathe a deeper sort of life, taking a new perspective in the warmth of a blanket and the company of close friends. The sounds of ambient laughter and mourning guitars in coffee-shops provide the soundtrack for our winter and our hearts bundle together for a sort of warmth that cannot really be achieved by any one of Summer's friends but only by the reminiscing and outpouring of Winter's hospitality.

And the winter lights shine down on us, illuminating ourselves to ourselves. And the moon shows each of us the hearts that surround us; shows each of us a fire that's being built inside of us; shows each of us the strength of warmth in the winter through the lens of the placement into a new kind of family. A family which has little to do with blood and little to do with heritage. But instead, a family that breathes acceptance amidst the folds of the cold; a family that sighs in contentment in the light of the night clouds; a family that rises together and sings the songs of Winter and the sacred silence of it all.

Winter is here.