It’s getting closer to winter where I live. I’ve started dragging scarves out of the drawers where they’ve been stored over summer, and my long black boots have become my preferred footwear regardless of whether I’m wearing a skirt, dress or pants. The mornings are biting, the days are getting wetter and I need my extra blanket on top of my quilt at night. I’m drying washing over the clothes horse rather than hanging it outside in the damp air, and I’ve located both of my pairs of leather gloves so that they are ready when I need them.
I hate tumbling out of bed into the cold of my yet to be heated house. I loathe entering the chill each morning when I leave the house. I dislike the bulk of my overcoat and the swaddling of scarves around my neck. I resent waiting in the cold for my tram to arrive and the length of time it can take to get feeling back in my fingers when I get to the office. The memory of winter is somehow built into our muscles as a form of memory, frigid in its anticipation.
And yet, as I sit here in my living room in front of the heater and listening to the rain tumbling onto the corrugated iron roof, I remember that winter is not all bad – comfort food, long weekend afternoons curled up with a book, AFL football, red wine. I’m not sure there’s anywhere I’d rather be.
It freaks me out that winter is coming where you are.
It freaks me out winter where you are means SNOW. Could.not.handle.
Yeah it’s not great. But all of the always hot countries are totally third world. I went to Melbourne in the winter once, and Australia is easily the warmest first world place, and I was freezing. Granted, no snow, but still very uncomfortable. I wish Mexico was less murdery.
Melbourne is my ‘hood … the winds that blow up from the Antarctic can be bad.
love that you’re seeking and appreciating the comforts, appreciating where you are…
I’ve got to say that it’s hard some days when the mornings are particularly chilly, but at least we don’t get snow …!