***I love winter. I love its slow, unrelenting steps. Its phlegmatic nature. Even in places where nothing ever changes, where the trees never shed their leaves, believe me there is winter. There, winter does not fall from sky in white mysterious flakes, it does not wave its flag from the roofs of sleepy cities. But believe me, winter still is, for it cannot not be. For we need winter just as we need a good night of sleep after a day of play and labour. We need its pastel colours to give our eyes a rest, to quieten our hearts, to soothe our minds. To re-learn, that is to learn again, all over from scratch, the art of breathing in and breathing out, of listening to winter’s silence, of walking slowly, making every step firm and deliberate, of finding balance. In some quirky, peculiar way in the depth of slow, unrelenting winter we find ourselves and our freedom. Someone I once knew used to grow the vine. He once told me that in places, where there is no winter, wine-making is impossible. If the vine does not get enough rest, it will not produce. Even to the southern fields, weary with heat and summer toils, buzzing with insects until late November, comes quiet, unassuming winter. Why run from it? Why resent it? We should welcome it as we welcome the night after a long and tiresome day. Why not stay inside for a while, while the wind is howling so wildly in the early dusk? Why not linger around the fire, making our house a home? Why not bake, breathe cocoa and cinnamon, cover the kitchen with edible snow? There will always be plenty of time for everything else, so why not slow down and live? © Copyright: Солнышкин Май, 2014.
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