When winter gets inside your head
Shot in winter in Nottingham Road
A Journal Entry
Written in May 2023 in a Nottingham Road winter.
I’m in a winter season. Literally. Longing for spring, almost aching for summer. How strange to wish an entire season away. But I hate the cold. I hate that feeling in the morning when you don’t want to get out of bed. That’s a terrible thing for a morning person. Pull the covers higher, hit snooze for the seventh time, whisper, “You can do this.”
I love a sunrise. I love being outside. But right now it feels impossible. To be outdoors at 6 a.m. would require a snow suit. And yet, historically, I’ve always picked up some sort of running habit in winters gone by - jogging in the freezing air, the burn in my chest reminding me how astonishingly alive I am. Maybe that’s part of it: running it out. Or hoping the season itself will run out faster if I just get up and run.
But still, I ask: What does this winter season want from me? What will I give it?
How will this island child survive cold floors, icy exhales, frosty mornings, and bare trees? Everything stripped away. What will be left?
Fires. We can make fires. I adore my slow cooker, though load shedding throws a curveball. Potjie pot weekends. Fires. Did I mention fires? Warm socks and vests. A few decent tracksuits for sleeping. Winter walks, I can manage those. Even better: winter prayer walks. I may be done with running for now. Dressed like the abominable snowwoman, I’ll walk. And I will pray.
Warm scents in the house. Candles. Lots of candles - doubling up for load shedding, so that’s a win. Bath bombs and salts. Thank God for Rain (the skincare brand, not the weather). Because, honestly, a wet winter is the worst.
Soups and stews. Perhaps homemade bread? Never tried that. Reading by the fire. Early nights. Snuggles and cuddles - plenty of those. More rugs? More sleeping. I will be like a bear. Hibernation. Yes, I like that idea.
Maybe this is a reading-the-Bible-by-the-fire, moving-to-the-piano season… eeking out the songs of hope and new beginnings on the horizon. Spring will come, eventually. I’ll sing it into being. I’ll watch and wait, trusting that You will come through, like You always have and always do.
Find me grateful. Find me thankful. Find me on my knees.
Cold air, I will not fear you. I will step onto my stoep at night when you're at your fiercest and breathe you in deep. I’ll look up at the stars and praise my Father who flung them there. I am not forgotten. We are not alone. He is our very present help in times of trouble. Things are not dead, they’re hidden. Resting beneath blankets of brown leaves and frosty lawns, waiting for their own new season.
