Winter - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Winter comes as a hearth song bequeathed by black cradled stars.
Winter arrives, an icy serenade, a coolness to bring out the warmth within.
The winter sun brought out the purity of the heaven-given snow, as if were a blank page for our merriment, inviting the feet to play and the spirit to laugh.
This winter I'm gonna win. Let the ice crackle underfoot, for it is nothing as compared to this warm heart and the fire burning within, that steady pilot flame. That's the thing about these tough times, the most loving win because we dig in, we get determined when the greedy cut and run. So, that winter wind with its toothy bite is nothing but excitement to me.
The winter is such crystalline joy, those brilliant rays that show the uniqueness of every snowflake. It is the time of puddles that become transient skating rinks and for my thoughts to remain cozy within a woollen hat. It is the time when the sunniest of days are warm even in when I can see my breath rise as neat and pure vapour. It is the days of quiet poetry forming in my soul as if it calls to the spring flowers that will soon blossom.
The wintry sun is the brightness of the day, taking centre stage as the blooms of the summertime become a part of the soil. The sunshine and cold, the sparkle and the ice, somehow warm even when the north wind bites. There will be days I wish to stay in the warm, to observe from a duvet, fingers wrapped snuggly around some cocoa... yet somedays the winter takes my hand and shows me its beauty, that in truth, it is but the dawn of spring.
The river appears still, yet she flows under the thinnest of ice, awaiting the gentle touch of the sun. Though the air bares only the coldness and the ground is frozen once more, they glitter with the gift of each nascent ray. It is as if God ensured there would be hope even on the deepest and most wintry of days, asking us to see the sparks that remain even when the world is frozen. And so I choose not to see the blanket of ice but the waters that remain deep and moving, ever onward to join the ocean in its slow yet sure way.
Wintry trees stand as ballet dancers poised to show the world their grace, strength showing in how they remain so still in the seasonal gusts. Now that the leaves have fallen, they are so proud, as if their silvery-brown skin was their glory all along. I lift my head into the wind, eyes open for this softly lit day. Cold is good if you are warm inside, just the same as we love ice in the summer time.
Before the cold winds come to breathe our world anew, before snow makes our familiar streets a canvas for dreams, I see each sculpted flake with eyes at rest, the chaotic dance of billions uniting over the earth. These daydreams are my hearth-fire, bringing the hint of a newborn smile, one that lifts every part of what I am. I ask the icy wind to bring me to higher senses, to wake within that which rested in the easy summer days; for in these dreams are wintry puddles, silver-blue in the path, as if they were nascent moons born to shine. Then, as if I can contain this energy surge no-longer, I run... I run past trees with skin the hue of spring soil, through shadow and light just the same.
Upon each tree born wand, naked from winter's rasp, come the buds of spring. Each tells of green leaves to come, or the sweet blossom within. Even as cold winds blow, they are such embryonic joy.
As the long summer days linger in our memories, nature rests her rainbow palette. In their place she brings out the colours of beach and woodland, soothing us into a quiet reflection. We walk through pictures shown so beautifully by the winter sun; each as bathed in love as the one before. Be it the blue of sea or sky, or every shade of brown from almost white to almost black, it brings a peaceful harmony. Yet in this choir of colours, mother nature keeps by a little green, a little red, for the holly tree, the evergreens and robins. And after this rest, this deep breath of cool fresh air, we are ready for the sweet mischief of spring.
Under a dove grey sky the colours of my world don their winter coats, each hue darker and richer than before. The path sparkles and crunches, like sugar underfoot, and the coolness brings me right into the now, into the moment of life. Though the flowers sleep and the trees show their lofty arms once more, a smile plays upon these cold lips. For as much as I love the summertime, I love the winter too. For every perfume of the meadow, there is the earthy loam of the newly-lit forest floor.
There is a warmth that tumbles out in the winter time; when all else is so cold. It radiates from those who love and nurture as easily as they breathe. In truth, the sparks of warmth are always there no matter the season, just like a warm rock blends into a summer beach, yet melts winter ice.
The air is frozen lace on my skin, delicate and cold, like winter waves on sallow sand. The sky is washed with grey, watery light illuminating thin patches to brilliance. In some moments I am watching my boots over the frozen sidewalk, perfect concrete slabs, flat and square, and in others transfixed to the interplay of cloud and sun above. For some reason my mind conjures a stone mosaic made beautiful by the shards of a mirror and I want to keep my eyes heaven bound while my imagination makes them one thing. Only the slipping of my feet brings my attention earthward once more, the need to stay upright pulling my mind into the present.
The rain has lost the ambient temperature of early fall, freezing and paling my skin on contact. The path through the park is muddy water in motion, filling deep puddles that hide the ruts of dryer weather. To feel it isn't enjoyment, not fun like the gentle sunshine of springtime, yet it is a part of life and I want to feel it just the same. I want to experience each drop, together and apart, same and different. I want to see the droplets soaking my eyelashes before they join their brethren on the ground like saltless tears. I need to be in this, chaotic and wild, just like my mind and soul - like nature looked right into me and pulled the weather out.
Though the winter had been long, the first signs of spring grew boldly, as if commanding the warm weather to come all the faster. It was as if the teeth of winter had shattered and the kiss of a new season approached. Joanna breathed in deeply, so wanting the pretty flowers and blossoms that she could almost smell the promise of their fragrance. Just to imagine the change of season relaxed her and she walked down the wide avenue with her favourite, her steps bolder than they had ever been before.
Even on the coldest days of winter the sun is bright in the sky, bringing joy to my heart. The snow has a purity that elevates my spirit, the world made as pristine as a book ready for new stories. Already my creativity is surging, dancing around the evergreens with the delight of a child. Even the coldness upon my face is refreshing, my body cozy inside a warm coat.
Under the wintry air and the sky that has born black clouds since November came, the harbour is as grey as a newspaper picture. The sea has given up her blue, the stones show no russet colours and the boats have taken on the monochrome look of old movies. Even the air tastes more dull. The wind whips salt into eyelashes and onto exposed skin and all the while the trams run along the beachside with a clatter and whir.
For years I had lived winter and summer in separate houses, believing them to be both necessary to my wellbeing. Yet truly, my heart was in my summer house and this time, when winter called, I refused with a simple shake of my head. The months rolled by regardless and snow did fall on my summer house. In my tall boots I strode out to meet the world made anew and clapped my hands for joy, for the sight of the home I only associated with the warm weather was prettier than my imagination had ever conjured before. That year new life was breathed into my bones and I chose my summer home to be my only one.
The naked winter trees line the avenue. Our breath rises in visible puffs to join the darkened clouded night sky. There is a freezing chill in the air that brings crispness to the leaves, bejewelled with frost, that crunch underfoot. Rosy cheeked, we stamp to keep warm, pulling woollen hats over our reddened ears and tightening scarves over our blue-tinged lips. Teeth chatter and the cold seeps into our gloves numbing our fingers until they cease to bend properly, stiffened and frigid. Suddenly the illuminated sign on the bus appears, trundling slowly down the icy black road and we raise our arms to hail it.
The snow comes, white and glistening, erasing the troubles beneath, directing me toward a new and positive day. The coldness only crispens up my resolve to find love today. Perhaps in this swirling perfect whiteness that gives crystalline kisses, the coolness in the air will rejuvenate my soul, elevate my spirit and give me new reasons to step forward with confidence. It might be winter but there is beauty in it, clarity, the kind of thinking that lets me notice small details like how the trees though bare have the promise of spring within them, like the creator Himself lies dormant in the branches, ready to burst forth and greet the world with His many hues of green.
Mama always made her home-made soups and stews on those crisp winter days. The stew would warm us down to our toes, radiating the kind of glow that only her hearty food could give.