If you were to name the four seasons – where would you begin? Would you draw on the calendar year, answer with the early learning chants of childhood? “The four seasons are winter, summer, spring and fall.” Or is there an innate sense of life cycle that frames your understanding: Spring – new birth; summer- flourishing life; fall- harvest and letting go; wintering – cold, dark, dying? Now the circle of reasoning returns to the necessary hidden life of winter. Gestation. All that lies fallow. Browned earth, bare trees, forest hiking trails carrying the musky scent of decaying leaves. Winter dormancy is essential to survival and renewal of the life-giving processes.

Your approach to winter is a matter of perspective. In my east coast southern climate, snowbirds are found on designated mountain slopes, but the everyday reality is more often the drizzling kind of cold. You’ve heard it said. In fact I have heard myself say: “I am so done with winter.” On a late afternoon walk I recently ran into a neighbor who made this very same declaration. My first interpretation was he was planning a trip to warmer climes – where winter sits not so deep and cold. “No,” he said, “I am just heading to Maggie B’s – today is red wine.” Germinating takes some time. I have been ruminating on winter, intentionally developing a new life plan not to simply survive winter, but to thrive while lying fallow.

In truth November does a good job of preparing for the inevitable – the early sun sets leaving me no choice but to let go of my leisurely evening after dinner strolls. Meteorological winter begins December first and paradoxically arrives with its name in written lights, Garlands of white lights appear around doors and porches; draped on outdoor evergreen. Colored strands of light can be viewed through windows. Candles appear on the dinner table, the early push for holiday mood setting. And I say “bring it on.”  Every bit of twinkle that lightens the darkness gives a festive touch to winter’s arrival.

Nature has its way with irony. Astronomical winter officially arrives with the winter solstice. In the Northern Hemisphere Dec. 21 may or may not be the shortest day of the year, but it’s a good average possibility. Of course the solstice – the polar tilt away from the sun is a only moment in time. A minute or two at a time, the day begins to lengthen. And herein lies the magic of surviving winter. Time is marked by our constant move forward (or around). One of my great annual delights is the moment I experience the lengthening of days. I am generally making preparations for dinner, looking out the window at the color of the sunset. Quite early in January, after all the hub of holidays has quieted and I have once again fallen into a welcomed routine, a different kind of light catches my attention. Daylight still dazzling me; the gentle quiet before the roses and golds are draped on the horizon. I see. I see. Winter is in motion.