Some mornings in December feel harsher than others. The wind bites a little sharper, the air smells of frozen earth and salt, and the paths are gritty underfoot from sand scattered on icy patches. It’s the unromantic side of winter—the work of keeping life moving when it would be easier to stay inside, bundled under blankets. I notice how much the season demands a quiet kind of resilience. Walking the driveway, brushing off snow from the car, scraping ice from windows, or shovelling a path to the chicken coop, I feel the slow, steady rhythm of these small tasks. There’s no glamour here, only the reality of being outside and present, moving with what winter throws at you.
Even in this chill and grit, the landscape has its own muted beauty. Snow catches the weak winter light, turning every branch and fencepost into a tiny sculpture. Footprints of rabbits, squirrels, and birds mark the edges of the yard, showing life continuing despite the cold. The sky, pale and wide, hints at the longer days to come after the solstice. It’s a reminder that survival and endurance carry their own quiet rewards, even if they aren’t dramatic or picturesque.
Children and animals seem to adapt effortlessly. They don’t fuss about the cold or the salt on their boots. They notice the crunch underfoot and follow their curiosity wherever it leads. Adults often have to remember to slow down and meet winter on its own terms, to accept its grit without rushing past it or wishing it away. There’s a rhythm here, one that asks patience and a willingness to stay present in the work, however mundane it may feel.
If today allows, pay attention to the textures and sounds of winter underfoot. Walk slowly over sand, salt, or frost, and notice how the ground responds. Feel the grit, the cold, and the small resistance as part of the season’s character, and let yourself move along with it for a few moments.
