In Search of Winter

Image courtesy of Erik Johansson

When summer overstayed his welcome and winter showed no sign of making an appearance (and oh! autumn had all but disappeared from the face of this part of the earth), the locals blamed it on global warming and other newfangled terms that the Old Folk insisted were never in existence in the good old days.

Granny was one of the Old Folk and although I don’t believe everything they say, I do believe everything she says. So when she said yes, climate and weather were rarely capricious back in those times, I believed her. And when she also said that we could still use some age-old wisdom to tame the elements to do our bidding, if only temporarily, I believed that too. 

She sent me back in time to search for the good winters. I was to look for the good old days and nights cloaked in thick blankets of snow, cut them from the fabric of time, and weave them into the realm of the present day. A swift snip here, a neat nick there, then stitch together the snippets of time to form a patchwork of cold, wintry days. 

I must have done a good job for Granny was pleased when I came back home, winter at my heels. Winter, when she came, was like a dream come true. The nip in the air cleared our heads and invigorated our souls. Under the heavy cover of snow, the world was once again pristine and new, as if gifted with a new beginning.

But that was back then. It’s been twelve years now and not much has changed. The snow refuses to melt and the sun only emits a flimsy, ghostly glow. Spring is a forgotten antiquity. As is autumn. The locals yearn for the warmth of sunshine but no one quite remembers what summer used to be like.

Granny says she can send me back in time to return the winters and look for good summers. But I resist. I will have to let winter linger a wee bit longer. For I can’t quite remember where in time each of the snowy patches ought to be sent back to.