Winter, Letter to Dad

Dear Dad

I bought this used book last Saturday called Winter, A Spiritual Biography of the Season. It's a collection of essays and short excerpts by famous writers about Winter. We are in Winter now. I was telling Nadia last weekend one of the things I like about winter is the smell. I like how clean and cold the air is. I like breathing in the cold and converting it to warmer air. Ha! Take that winter!

I went to bed last night thinking you, as a native Californian, had never experienced winter. But then I remembered when you and Mom drove us into the mountains to see snow. It was an all day trip on a sunny day with a bright blue sky. The snow was in shiny lumps along the road. I remember thinking the snow looked alive. Damn those 1960s horror movies! I was afraid to touch it. You took pictures of Lisa and I playing in it. But that's not winter as a season. And then I remembered, you were in the army in Germany for at least a year. So you, in your whole life, probably had one, what I would consider, winter. Odd to think about.

I think once you get past the feel of cold, winter is quite beautiful... some of the time. It's a season unlike the green constancy of summer, where the world outside changes depending on the temperature. It's beautiful to most people as the snow falls and as the snow freshly fallen, covers yards, forests and prairie. Snow creates its own variations, subtly pulling from the land beneath but bending with wind and other mysterious variables. I think snow is beautiful until the last stages of melt. Old snow, browned or grayed by dirt below is not beautiful. Still white snow punched with the holes of melt has a sculpture like look on the ground.

Winter has this quiet though, that I love to walk in. I wish I could have walked in Winter with you. I never thought about that before. Anyway, Winter quiet is rich, a weird word to use....I mean the cold and dark create this quiet, like the air is rich, more substantial and as you walk, you feel a peace melt inside of you, especially when no one or even, very few, people are walking. If you do meet people  out walking in a neighborhood, they tend to smile and nod in an old fashioned way as they pass, as if the dark and quiet encourages a kind of respectfulness.

The best walking is as the snow is falling. The snow seems to create its own quiet. Maybe, its also that you are muffled; surrounded by coat, boots and hat ( although I hate hats) and mittens. After a bit, if the temperature allows it and I warm up enough, I like to take off my mittens, feel the cold and catch snow on my palms. I like to stop and stand, feeling the snow touching my face. We all do it. What is it about the snow touching our faces? I don't know. It feels sweet and good.

I don't know if Heaven has seasons Dad. I hope it does!
Love,
Margot