cold days, good books, cozy knits
Cold days — very cold days — are my favourites.
Don’t get me wrong, I hold no grudge toward warmer days, I like them, even. I’m not sure I like them for the right reasons, or because I’m told to. I guess they unease me. I’m uncomfortable in an unrequested heat. It’s almost a torment to try and be fine with it. Maybe things would be different if I had lived by the sea. I wonder such a thing, sometimes. Why my Mediterranean blood doesn’t crave summer and instead finds solace in crisps air and gloomy skies?
But there is nothing quite like walking outside during a cold day when the sun is shining brighter than it ever does in Summer and taking a long inhalation. It feels like taking your first breath. Smelling the day. Cleansing your lungs, as if it was the first time you were using them. Like a newborn.
Walking outside, wrapped in layers of heat. In layers of comfort. Walking outside, the streets as empty as one’s mind. Taking a breath and exhaling to see the evidence of being alive as the breath comes out of your mouth like a cloud.
There is nothing I love more than cold days. And the moment I step back inside, welcomed by the warmth of my home. Preparing a warm cup of tea, burning my fingers on the mug as I hold it between my palms. Sitting on my sofa, about to get lost in a book. Wrapped in wool. In my babaà. The same one that kept me warm when I was outside in the cold.