Do Not Hate Me

There’s something about the winter that I enjoy that many I know, do not.  I like the feeling of home when it gets cold and I have safe shelter.  Warm tea.  Blankets.  It feels like ‘old times’, to me, in the winter.  Maybe I like that part of it the most.  It reminds me of stories that the older folks I used to see in my line of work would tell me.  One particular where she told me of the home her father built their family, the pond that was made to turn into an ice rink for the children and their friends.  The apples.  The cider.  The hot chocolate.  And I can see her and her friends, a long time gone, so a very long time ago.  I enjoy the life this woman’s father created for them, vicariously through her memories, passed on to my memories.

I like winter.