A Reflection on Gray Skies, Quiet Hope, and the Warmth That Follows
Winter here is long. Not just in months, but in mood.
The skies stay gray for weeks on end, and we all grow a little quieter, a little heavier. It’s the kind of cold that seeps in — not just under your coat, but under your skin.
I was born and raised in New York. I’ve seen more snow than sunshine some years. I’ve stood in driveways with frozen toes and driven blind through whiteouts with nothing but memory to guide me. We all have stories like that — because that’s what this place gives you: seasons that demand something of you.
And yet… our summers are magic.
But right now? It’s February, and I’m sitting by the window, watching our 800th snowstorm roll through, and I’ll be honest — I hate it. Tonight, I’ll lie in bed and wait anxiously for Jerry to get home from work. He’s a California boy, still not used to driving through this. I’ll count the minutes and listen for the sound of tires crunching snow in the driveway.
Last week, I got a flat tire and had to stand outside longer than I care to remember. My toes got so cold, I checked them to make sure they hadn’t turned blue.
Even the dog has his limits. Dakota, who usually loves the snow, sometimes refuses to step outside — just plants his feet and gives me a look like, “you first.”
Winters here are no joke.
 |
| Knits by Grandma! |
For four months — sometimes more — we endure cold that hurts, roads that deceive, and a sky that forgets how to be blue. Cars get stuck. Power goes out. People grow quiet and a little brittle. We get through it, but just barely.
And still…
When summer arrives, it’s everything. Windows down, sun on your face, ice cream dripping down your wrist before you can catch it. Long walks with the dog, beach nights with Abbott’s custard, fire pits and bug spray and kids chasing fireflies past bedtime.
I know some people get this kind of weather all year long — but maybe that’s the point.
Maybe it’s the contrast that makes it beautiful.
If we didn’t trudge through months of frozen misery, would we really treasure those first 60-degree days the way we do? Would the sunsets feel as brilliant, the grass as soft, the summer air as full of promise?
You learn that joy doesn’t have to be loud — sometimes, it’s just the first day you step outside without a coat.
It’s the hush after the snow melts. The warmth creeping back into your bones.
It’s the knowing — that you made it through another one.
I don’t love winter. Not really. But I do love what it makes possible.
Because sometimes the cold seasons remind us how deeply we’re capable of feeling — and how good it can be to thaw.
No comments