The days are getting shorter…darker…colder, and I find myself wanting to hunker down. I seem to be stockpiling food, and firewood, and books–all those necessities to get through a long winter. I can’t be sure whether this is the result of some sort of intuition or if it can simply be attributed to the fact that I actually like colder weather. I like a cozy home, a pile of books, something cooking in the oven.
I tend to write more in the winter months. I am not sure that this is actually because I am more inspired. Perhaps it is the fact that cold, wet weather makes for less demands on my time. There is no garden to tend to, no yard to mow, nothing to distract me from the imaginary people and places that my mind conjures into being.
I read more in the winter months, as well.
This is as it should be. I spend my summer months creating memories, and my winter months are spent mining those memories for inspiration, twisting and turning them into darker things, creating a finer edge.
Tomorrow is Halloween. The children will put on their masks, trudge through the fallen leaves, and beg for enough candy to tide them through the next good while.
Yes, it is the time for tucking things away, planning ahead, and hunkering down. I am sure I will find empty candy wrappers tucked under pillows, stuffed in drawers, and crushed in the bottom of backpacks for weeks to come. Like a squirrel hiding away acorns, the children will stash sweets for another day.
They get it honest, though. As I tugged out the winter clothes, I found a scrap of a story idea scribbled on the back of an envelope then stashed in my coat pocket. The idea hibernated all summer long, only to be reborn as the chill took to the air.
Perhaps winter is a time of rebirth after all.