So many times when I think of The Long Winter, I recall this one paragraph:
In the morning Laura got out of bed into the cold. She dressed downstairs by the fire that Pa had kindled before he went to the stable. They ate their coarse brown bread. Then all day long she and Ma and Mary ground wheat and twisted hay as fast as they could. The fire must not go out; it was very cold. They ate some coarse brown bread. Then Laura climbed into the cold bed and shivered until she grew warm enough to sleep.
I excepted from “The Long Winter, Chapter 30: It Can't Beat Us”
This chapter feels desolate and all but hopeless. Winter’s still here.
It’s curious, the way my body changes with the seasons. I delight in summer’s warm embrace, barely-there clothing, and star dappled late nights, but time is a marvelous thing.
As autumn makes its way to us, I can finally roll around in bed and find true comfort in the arms of another person. It’s a part of our basic instincts, to start looking for heat while the atmosphere gets colder around us.
I like to gently press the soles of my feet against the calves of my lover, giggling, and saying sorry while I’m not sorry at all. I like waking up and hiding my hands between my thighs, finding the warmth hidden there. My lover likes to do this, too, claiming it is always warmer than any other spot of our bed. I can hardly disagree.
Most people would say that spring is their favorite season. With the colors blooming around us and the birds singing in every branch, I can understand why most of my peers would enjoy spring more than any other time of the year. It’s also relieving to wear fewer clothes, of course! Few can believe that I prefer winter over anything else.
I could tell them that my lover and I have a few indoor activities that we prefer to do over partying or shaking sand out of our shoes, but I remain quiet and shrug with a coy smile.
Where most people would find loneliness, I find myself. It’s like lighting up a match that was hidden in my core. The light shows me a road towards pleasure, and I follow.
Sometimes, when I’m home alone and the temperature tells me that it will start snowing soon, I turn up the thermostat, grab a decadent body butter, and liberally apply it to my already soft skin. Pair that with clean sheets, a down comforter, and only one thing is missing- You.
It’s always bliss to welcome the sharp sensation of the temperature dropping outside while discovering the forgotten pleasures of an evening in. A bottle of wine, a warm fire, snow drifting lazily past the windows. While you and I discover each other over, and over again.