Winter is beautiful. I love the cold nights, and the orange glow of the lampposts on the lightly wet pavement. The shimmer is stunning. I forget that these things happen. These small ridiculous things that are true beauty. It's simple, isn't it? Winter. Everyone complains about it but the cold is sharpens everything. I feel more awake, alive. Ready. I love it when it is dark at half 4 in the afternoon, it feels like the night will last forever. I love watching the sunrise and sunset. I love watching the mist rise every morning over the woods near my house. I love chunky knit scarves. I love mittens with panda faces on. I love the walks home from school in the dark, the danger keeps me on edge. I love the bright headlights of the cars that drive past. I love storms, the tiny disturbance floods my road. I like the crunch of the frost beneath my boots walking through the park in the morning. I love the excuse of getting into your pyjamas at 5 in the afternoon because you can. I love that feeling of nostalgia when all the old films are on. I love warm radiators that numb my hands after suffering without gloves. I love over sized jumpers.
Winter brings this out in me, this love-ish-ness (it's a new word). I appreciate things a lot more in winter. Mainly nature. But I also start new hobbies, or time wasters - depending on your opinion. Knitting is one of them. I am an old woman. But I've got into a bit of an odd habit lately: walking. I know that seems a bit regular, and yes I have used my legs for the past 16 years but I've been walking instead of getting the bus or a lift to places. Wanting to walk.
I think I'm more scared of walking through my local shopping centre than walking through the woods at night. Is that logical? Sensible? Or ridiculous? To be honest I don't really care. I have heavy shoes that will hurt anyone who approaches fast, threateningly, or with a skip in their step. Be warned.
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