People bewail the changing of clocks and the lost light. They mourn lazy evening walks to the sound of outdoor play and breakfast on the patio accompanied by birdsong.
Winter brings me home.
No longer do I have to hide pale skin under stifling layers. No longer do I have to pretend to enjoy picnics with the wasps and the sticky fingers of my friends’ children.
Instead, I can unfreeze my toes with too hot showers that turn my pale skin pink. I can wrap up beneath blankets with a ghost story open on my lap.
In winter I sing.
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