Winter always makes me want to curl up with a short story and watch the sun take its leave for the day. More than five years ago, I spent many a winter afternoon climbing up the water tank on our building terrace and spend a good hour or so in the company of Chekov or Maupassant, watching the day blend into night. Staring at the vastness all around, for ours was one of the highest buildings in the neighborhood, and wondering at the vastness of thought in the pages that I beheld, it was a wonderful way to let the hours flow by.
I wonder sometimes if now, in spite of being freer than I have ever been in many ways, I am more limited in my thoughts and actions than I was not so long a time ago, at a terrace far away... I've never been to the terrace of the building where I now live. And for someone who would explore every inch of a place and figure out how to find her way in a new area, I haven't really explored much of the city where I now live. True, that public transportation is not as good as what it was in my home city, but I probably should have found a way.
Still, enough of that. Winter has always been my favorite time of year. Never mind the runny noses, or the sheer torture that is washing long hair early in the morning. Winter is when life takes a step back from the lively rush of summer, and seeks solace within itself. Winter is for falling in love with the chilly breeze that paints your cheeks pink. Winter is for lovers to seek warmth in each other. Winter is for coming back home, or else yearning most terribly for it.
And home is where the heart is. My heart just needs to find a home that is close by.
1 comment:
Me too :/
t's all a blend of nostalgia and a sort of losing the intense things for me
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