(Bed time story I guess?)
This time of year is my favorite for a few reasons. One of them was the weather yesterday. Cold, grey, rainy, and windy. Somehow, I feel like it is weather that suits me and my personality. Its the most comfortable weather for me. Yes, summer storms are nice, but yesterday was, to me, perfect weather.
Not to mention that once the rain clears, the sun illuminates all the freshly fallen snow on the mountain tops. I find more colors, more shades, more hues that I enjoy during this time of year than any other. Deep blues, purples, greys, silvers. The low hanging clouds shifting through the mountains like a misty ghost. And sometimes, when the conditions are just right, the sunsets are fantastic. Vibrant pinks contrast against darkened blue clouds. Streaks of gold can sometimes peek through across the sky. Firey reds blaze along the horizon as the sun sets.
If you so choose, you can trek up into the mountains and find yourself in an entirely different world there. Packed snow laying across the ground, clinging to trees, and nestled in the crevices of rocks. Cabins decorate the inclines. A still silence, so thick that you don't want to make a sound so as not to risk shattering the ambience. And in that stillness, if you listen close, you can hear the snaps of heavy snow breaking weak branches, the soft slush when it hits the ground. Some days, you can hear the wind working its way across the treetops, snaking across the valley.
I've heard from many people through the years complain that they can't live here for too long because there is no life, no color. And while I tend to agree most of the time, especially during the blazing summers with an unforgiving sun, I must disagree with them once the winter rains begin.
There is nothing like walking in quiet solitude in a cold drizzle, surrounded by muted grey. Light barely shines, almost like its stifled by the enveloping grey and cold. "This is not your time, Light. This is the time of rest, of sleep, of solitude," it almost whispers around you. And the light obeys, for now at least. The sound of passing cars almost seems miles away as you walk through the rain. The rain itself feels like its own entity, that you are walking through a single wall of water rather than millions of little droplets. It drenches you, embraces you, runs its fingers across your face. Lovingly, gently. As if it is showing you compassion and understanding.
Sometimes, this can change into something even more wonderous and rare for this environment: snowfall. White flakes surround you like endless confetti, blanketing the scenery around you, transforming it entirely. At least for a day that is.
But these days are rare, and should be enjoyed when they do present themselves. This place is also cruel, relentless. The winds tear through you while a clear sky and shining sun mock you. There are no grand colors on those days, no dreamscapes to enchant or embrace you. So you hold out for the next great, because when it arrives again, it will be worth it. As all good and enjoyable things in life are, you wait another day.
This is what I look forward to every winter here.
baratheonpilled
germansingergirl
kianamaiart
theartofmadeline
dailybridgerton
tangentwithtanner
titsay
romaincrisis
gummygunk
