Come Winter

Come Winter, it'll all be gone.

November already? Here in Dallas it has been in the eighties all week long. Doesn't feel like my favorite time of year. Doesn't feel like Summer or Spring either. Doesn't feel like much of anything. (In case you haven't noticed, I am sometimes given to melancholy.)

Fall is my favorite season. I love the cool, crisp cleanliness of the air. I love it when the sun is bright, but the wind nips at you anyway. I love it when it is too cool for short sleeves but not time to bundle up. As much as the weather, though, I love that it signifies the coming of the Holiday season: that time between Halloween and Christmas...my favorite time of year.

I am a sentimental, sappy sucker for the pageantry of the holidays. I love the feel of it, the look of it, the sound of it. I just do. But there are always little moments...when I am alone with my thoughts and emotions. During those moments, I feel the chill in my soul, the longing for something I can't quite define. Sometimes it is a distant, even faint, memory. Sometimes, it is a scent that brings back a flood of all-too-vivid memories and makes me long for yesterday. Other times, it is just this gnawing cognizance of the rapidity of passing time. I lament the passing of some moment I ought to have cherished and, ironically, miss another, current moment I will surely mourn later.

My least favorite month is January. I know it marks the birth of a new year. The slate is wiped clean and here is a fresh new start. But I am hardly ever completely prepared to lay the old year to rest, first of all. Second, in Texas, January usually means ugly, bitter cold to go along with those post-holiday blues.

So, I am thinking all of this when I find the lyrics to the song, Come Winter, by Daphne Loves Derby:

The First Day of fall is the last day I'll kiss the sky...The cold air surprises my bones have been spoiled by the summer's heat...The sun hides its face, and I'll hide mine too...Sooner or later this winter will rain down and leave me to wait for one year...I'll be there, I'll be there...Next year this time, I'll be there...I'll dream of the past, and wish that I was there....I am burning the letters of days gone by...I'm so sorry, but I'm scared that my heart will regret the things that I've done...Breathe in all of the ashes of my mistakes....Gently collapse so no one will notice that you're falling too short of your breath...I've wasted more time dreaming than living...I've wasted more time dreaming...I'll be there...So cherish these days, enjoy every breath like it will be the last of your life...Please never look back because you won't forget why you cried.

Ah, sweet melancholy. Come Winter, I always feel it.

And yet I dare to say, "Come, Winter."