the deep charity of winter air

Mornings here are white now, the world trapped in fog like swaddling clothes. The air is wet, chilled, suspended between a frozen night and a new day's warmth. These dark medieval buildings rise from the smoke like phantoms, and the cobblestones are slick with cold. Gone are the bright sunrises, the early colors of Tuscany. We returned from a fall in Florence to find that winter's arrived in Siena---and, surprisingly, I love it.

This could have to do with the fact that I don't need to worry about that pesky frozen snow stuff. That this is Italy's version of winter, not the usual freeze-out in the Rocky Mountains. But I am also loving how full of life these dead mornings are, how strangely envigorating. The fog makes you imagine, all lines blurred and the world left to your creativity. The cold makes you remember, warm with thoughts of home and family, nights so near in the future full of cozy fires and favorite mugs of spicy teas. And the grey skies make you think of color, replacing this muddy palette with your favorite sorts of hues.

And it certainly helps that the season comes with scarves, and boots, and twinkle lights. I'm rather looking forward to falling in love with it all over again. In the meantime, my friends, it's time to stock up.