Winter Again.

On Sunday I felt very suddenly and strongly that fall was over and winter was here. Thanksgiving seems to mark the end of fall, in some way. And winter is my season.

Sometimes I pretend that this isn't true. I think about how magical summer is and how I was a summer girl. I love summer. I think about how changeful and warm fall is and I want to fit as snugly in it as my friends do. But no. Winter comes and I'm reminded that we belong with one another.

Somewhere along the way Winter became a dear friend, a thoughtful companion, a familiar extension of myself.

You know that warm bubble of contentment and joy that swells under your ribcage when something inexpressibly delightful and comforting happens? I'm feeling that.

Here's the thing, guys. I'm going through a lot of change in my life (when am I not?) and Winter is my time to sit down and unpack all of my mind's drawers and sort everything. And I need to take the time to pull the drawers out of my dressers and empty them in giant piles all around me. I need the time to sit and pick through and turn things this way and that and relabel some of it and then re-fold it or throw it away or hang it up.

Winter gives me that time. oof. There's a lot of time in Winter. A lot of dark time. But I think I'm ready. Let's get down to the bare bones, to the bare arms of the trees. I need to stop. and think. and figure it out.