Eyes open at 06:45

With dreams drifting away, I adjust my vision to the dark of my winter morning room.

Limbs stretch out, breaking through slumber into waking life, the tips of my fingers and toes exceed the sphere of warmth around me.

I shake hands with the chill of winter air, and retreat quickly under my covers.

I curl into myself, returning to a fetal pose in the hopes of regaining my warmth.

People talk about the memories of summer, the familiarity of autumn.

But I think there’s nostalgia in winter.

To wrap up warm reminds me of when I was so small that I’d be eaten by a scarf and hat; only my eyes poking through, squished against my rosy cheeks.

Cuddling up with loved ones under blankets, watching snow fall as you’re glued to a radiator. With your fingers crossed that each snowflake settled.

I remember each winter coat and woolly hat I’ve had,

I remember the snowmen I built with the gloves that didn’t go far enough down my wrists, letting snow flick up into my sleeves.

There’s magic in winter.

From the first shiver, you think of chestnuts roasting on an open fire.

Of a time where gifts are given, food is eaten and family visited.

We share in a literal and emotional embrace.

So many people across the world share in these traditions.

Share in love and the pursuit of warmth.

Sometimes winter keeps us apart, the snow is un-moveable, and we don’t want to leave our beds.

But eventually the sun will thaw the world, and we pull back those bed covers, ready to say hello.