The Quiet work of Winter

This season can feel heavy. As if, the icy terrain is there to haunt us. It blankets our land with a distinct unwelcomed greeting. The cold finds its’ way to our bones and forces a stillness to preserve every ounce of warmth we have left. The sun takes its’ leave hours before the day is meant to end. It feels like a betrayal in some sense. As if, the winter had its’ way and won. The chill settles in for the night pushing us into our fictional warmth we crafted to survive. The story we tell ourselves to push through this hollow pause between seasons. The inherited belief we have come to hold true is that it is the heat that nurtures the earth, and in turn allows us all to grow. But, what if I told you that this view of our world is simply not true. Simply born with the idea that when dark meets the cold it is a crossing of two treacherous paths we get lost on. But, in all the truths I have found, this one holds the most sense: this season has intention that sets fire to the blooms of spring. It has a purpose that is meant to experience, sit in, and be felt. You see, we are not called to push through this muted season. It is not written in the stars that we are intended to simply name it, but keep moving, to greet it, but not invite it to stay. We were designed to know it, to move with it, and welcome it with an unspoken awareness that it has come with quiet permission to settle in with it.

We all know the feeling. That chill in the air that makes you pause. That little acknowledgement of the sun taking an early leave to give the darkness more time. We tend to stop in our tracks and notice what is happening, yet it is not usually the same emotion as when spring makes its’ arrival. Let’s not even begin to speak on how the beginning of summer puts a spell on all of us in a way that transports us back to our childhood, greeting the summer months with a sense of adventure and wonder. I will not even try to compare anything, not even winter, with the fat guy coming down our chimneys, to that out of body experience we feel in the first days of summer. With spring, it is like a breath of fresh “not so god-damn cold” air. It is definitely a warm welcome, which makes me wonder if that is where the phrase actually comes from. The buds on the trees begin emerging, making their presence known. And believe me, we notice them. The flowers sprout through the dirt and patiently await their old friend’s warmth.

Just as we are preparing to take refuge in our warm houses, every living thing outside has learned to listen to winter before it arrives. The birds migrate, not in panic, but in knowing. The trees release what they cannot carry. Animals burrow, thicken their fur, change their rhythms. Nothing fights the season. Nothing argues with the cold. They prepare. They adapt. They meet the season where it is, moving in rhythm with it, letting it be what it is, not what they long for, not what they hope it will soon become.

We tell ourselves they are surviving winter, as if it is a threat they must outlast. But watch closely, this is not survival in the desperate sense. It is alignment. It is intelligence woven into instinct. They do not resist the quiet; they respond to it. They seek warmth and shelter, yes, but they do so without shame, without urgency, without the story that something has gone wrong.

What if winter is not something to be conquered, but something to be understood? What if these living things are not merely making it through, but participating in a sacred pause? They are not waiting for life to resume—they are living it differently. And perhaps we are meant to do the same.

Growing up in a place that experiences winter to its’ fullest, I was taught to push through it, keep moving, and eventually the long-awaited spring would find its’ way back. Spring was always the light at the end of the “gray skies of January through February tunnel.” The countdowns to spring were always a topic on the morning news during those months. We were conditioned to believe that winter is something to “get through.” That the dark, the slow, the quiet are problems to solve. Somewhere along the way, we learned to stay busy, distract ourselves, and override what we feel. This is where we learned to measure worth by constant motion, to truly believe that rest means weakness, and to do whatever we can to fill the silence. This steady pulse of unending motion has been woven into us so deeply that any moment of stillness feels wrong, almost unnatural, even when every living thing outside is showing us another way. When you take away the ideological pressure to push through winter, you begin to experience it as it is, as it was always meant to be. A pause.

So, when you glance out into the barren grounds, and feel the cold against your skin, know that this season is inviting you to breathe. Lay down what you carry, for just a little while, without guilt or shame. Your quiet is not hollow, it is holding, still alive beneath the surface, and finally allowed to slow down. Winter is waiting, not to be rushed, not to be conquered, but simply to be met as it is.

 The days seem to fade

into a darker night 

One that feels heavy

With no end in sight 

We must go, we must do

Keep pushing through 

Distract ourselves 

From what we feel too 

This is the only way 

You have to do all

Allowing time in 

Just triggers our fall 

But winter reminds us 

to take heed in the still 

Exhale and reset

Strengthens our will

The trees don’t apologize 

For shedding to bare

Telling a story 

Of the layers they wear 

Don’t you see?

All those of living

need a quiet repose 

a chance, being given

Underneath, presence grows 

The leaves learn to let go

Whispering our cue 

Let our breath lower 

Allow space for a new 

This season throws our anchor

To be where we are

Present, in this moment

Not wandering afar

When those sprouts emerge 

From their frozen depths

To regain its’ strength 

Awaken next steps

Honoring the warmth 

Preserving its’ glow

Survived by allowing

to unearth and regrow

You see,

This pause between seasons

This barren expanse

Is not meant to show ending 

It is life’s silent dance 

In the unseen 

Refining its’ tune 

Allowed to be still

So that they may bloom