The Sunday of my Weekend

It was the Sunday of my weekend when he drifted through the window behind me.

He blew gently on my hair, as his icy fingers tickled my neck, then grazed lightly over my shoulder.

Did I not know?

Did I not know that winter was here?

Did I not know that the days were short and the trees were bare?

He said I let him in, and I was unprepared.

He was right.

I had no fancy comeback, no answer or reason.

No anger, no fear - just confused by the season.

So we sat, and we looked at each other in silence.

Him filling the chair, me full of defiance.

Did I not know? he asked me again.

Did I not know that winter is here?

Did I not know that the birds have flown and the blue skies are clear?

His face was perplexed as he frowned at me.

Not quite sure what to do.

I stood up.

To make tea.

Because I knew what he saw.

I could tell. I could see. Just a middle-aged lady. Just her. Just me.

But I was wrong.

He tilted his head as he watched me walk.

He asked me to stay, and he wanted to talk.

I turned on the kettle. I grumbled. I sighed.

I pulled on my boots then joined him outside.

He held me close and kept me warm, while snowflakes danced around us in the icy cold wind.

Trees swayed and clattered noisily against each other. Frozen, red berries glistened against the clean, white snow.

The air was so fresh that I wanted to breath it all in at once - keeping the memory tucked inside of me forever.

He held my hand tight, gave it a squeeze, and asked me....

Now do you see?

Now do you see that winter is here?

Now do you see?

I rolled my eyes as I went inside to pour the tea.

Of course, I know that winter is here, you silly man, or whatever you might be.

I know that windows should be closed, and hats should be worn.

I know that mother nature is growing new plants to be born.

I know that it's cold, we should prep and prepare, but sometimes, just sometimes, I don't really care.

If I did, then I wouldn't have such a story to tell.

And you would never have drifted through my window on the Sunday of my weekend. Warmed by a cup of tea and a soft heart.

And I wouldn't have seen the magic of winter and felt the unexpected squeeze of a kind hand.

Y'see, I do know it's winter. I really do.

And while I'll never be quite as ready as I should be. I do know that a window will always be open, a chair will always be waiting, and there will always be plenty of time for tea.