The crisp winter smell, pine needles, wood smoke, snow – it’s winter in New York.
The leafless tress so picturesque, I want to believe it’s a dream in a dream. Icy air a whistle in my ears, fingers and toes numb, a deep breath in and a slow breath out- I am humming the winter song. The air feels soo fresh and pure, I smell coffee brewing somewhere in a café on 72nd St., the roads are empty- no sign of a soul, suddenly everything seems quieter, almost muffed. I am bundled in layers of clothes but the felling is still soo good.
The simplicity of winter has deep moral. The return of nature, after such a career of splendor and prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not lost either upon the head or the heart. It is the philosopher coming back from the banquet and the wine to a cup of water and a crust of bread. – John Burroughs, “The Snow-Walkers,” Such plain beautiful words, warms one’s heart on a dead winter night. It is the poetry that makes my winter calming and special. And a good cuppa coffee is never missed.
Feel the winter folks, experience it, it’s magical! Let your thoughts wonder, let them fly high in the unknown spaces, let them discover the undiscovered. It is in winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity. – John Burroughs, “The Snow-Walkers,”
With winter and only winter in my thoughts, I await the new adventures in store for me- the whiteness, the purity, the splendid winter snow.