Winter Has Arrived

This morning, I woke to the soft whisper of snow. At first, just a dusting—tiny flakes drifting down like the sky was exhaling. Then more. Heavier. Certain. The kind that settles into the earth and insists you pay attention. It’s the season of fireplaces flickering back to life, of pulling thick blankets around our shoulders, of letting our bodies rediscover the weight of winter clothing.

It always strikes me as a kind of cosmic irony—how, after months of peeling back the old layers that once confined us, we now reach for new ones. But these layers are different. These are not cages; they are comfort. A gentle wrapping. A warm acceptance of what remains tender and true within us, and a reminder that some things deserve protection.

Winter has a way of pushing us inward. The cold outside draws us closer to our own heat, our own center. It asks, What must I hold onto so I don’t drift into the long, frozen dark? I can’t command the weather, or anything swirling beyond my skin. But I can cultivate the landscape inside me. Outside, storms may press their palms against the windows, but inside, I choose stillness. I let my breath steady. I listen—to the wind’s bite, to my own heartbeat answering back.

I am safe here.
I am warm.
I am strong.

And even in the wildness of winter, I remain untamed.