The smell of winter!

Winter is quiet. It’s lonely. It’s dark. It’s grey. And it talks to me. Even the cold coming in from the gaps of your curtains. It talks to me. The numbness around leaves a havoc inside. On the contrary, summer is rough, dry, emotion-less and raw. I feel like winter is my sibling. It listens to me. It lets me be. I can talk to it when there is no one around.

A slight shiver that the cold air brings, not just stirs up the body, but also does the same to the soul. A walk on the orangely lit roads, with the light falling up on the dew-wet paths, leaves me with a lot more than just the chill. All – the poetry, the music, the best in the background of a song, all – are so heightened, because of the intense silence around. And the things that follow.

Every leaf falling from the august trees, when they form a random pattern on the road, and the chill-air rearranges them to their scattered beauty. It takes me back to every rose flower that died its death to my thoughts, in my diary.

Each time I draw a smiling face on the dew-frosted glass of a car, and I smile back at it. It takes me back to how rarely or abundantly I have smiled with my loved ones.

The long, quiet walks in the cold nights, breathing fog in, when you know you are one of the few awake (alive?). They take me back to the long chats, conversations, songs and just random blabbering I have had with people.

This all is what winter does to me. It intoxicates me to depth. It gives me a gift of ‘me’. For me, every melancholy finds harmony during this time of the year. It’s like the spectrum that has just released its most beautiful colour.

Every minute is longer, distances are pretty, belongingness is more, and I long for winter. I do.