Letter 11: On Winter
We’ve enjoyed what has felt like the first proper winter for some time here in Toronto; in recent years, snowfalls seem to have become fewer and farther between. Summer may be the golden child of the seasons, unquestioningly adored, but I am here to extoll the virtues of winter.
I, for one, was not built to withstand the heat. For me, there is no pleasure to be found in spending any significant amount of time outdoors that risks scorched skin, head-spinning heat exhaustion, or rivulets of sweat running down my back as I try to run errands after work in my polyester office clothes.
The cold refreshes and invigorates, while the heat oppresses and lulls into a haze.
There is enjoyment in the coziness of wrapping yourself in layers of woolens and fleeces and downs, vulnerable creatures that we are without coats of our own to protect us against the elements.
Bundle yourself up properly and you can wander endlessly, allowing the cool air to regulate your body temperature. Instead of wilting under the cruel sun, you feel healthy and robust, cheeks flushed against the cold, like a hardy country child in a European fable.
You walk home in the evening after a fresh snowfall has christened the brow of the Earth. The blanket of snow insulates against sound and mutes the world around you. You are walking in a vacuum and the rest of your senses come alive – you feel more three-dimensional than before, a surer sense of yourself in space, you are more aware of your footsteps, of the slow downward drift of each individual snowflake. You are surrounded by a deep, warm silence.
Snowdrifts form, currents of air whipping them up into peaks, you are overcome with a burst of energy that urges you to run through knee-deep snow until your lungs burn and you throw yourself down in a fit of exhaustion, letting the snow swallow you up.
Even the less pleasant aspects of the season hold a certain magic. Diffusion slows and car exhaust is suspended in the air like medieval miasmas, scraping the already-raw airways of unsuspecting pedestrians. Your cup of takeout coffee rapidly drops in temperature, and as you remove the lid to gulp down the rest in haste, you notice the crystalline ring of ice that has formed around the rim.
You return indoors and your skin warms as your circulation revives but the cold deep inside your bones remains. You make yourself a cup of tea and can feel the stream of heat travelling down into your stomach, radiating its warmth outward.
A loved one comes in from the cold and you inhale the crisp smell of fresh air that wafts off their jacket as you embrace them.
As the night deepens, a glow seeps through the curtains. You draw them back and see the world illuminated, the snow reflecting moonlight and street lamps so that all is bathed in a half-light, keeping vigil until morning.
Thanks for reading. See you next week.