The word for winter is closer. Not “Closer” as in the song by the Chainsmokers and Halsey (misleading headline, I know), or the one by Nine Inch Nails. “Closer” as in how the deep snow raises you up towards the drooping, snow-freighted hemlock branches; closer too in the realization that death is nearer than in any other season. Unlike in summer, when the common person might wander into the woods of an evening and survive, winter casts such wayward survival into doubt.
For the first time in years, I’ve been able to experience the power of winter. Usually I return to school this time of year, and my natural sensibilities are crowded out by fourteen-page essays and four-hour-long labs. But not this year.
Feeling the bite of cold into the exposed flesh of your neck; hearing the krr-ump of snow beneath your curling toes; sensing the forest rise up and rattle with the a gust of icy exhale — all these make me understand that I am just a temporary visitor here in nature. I am not a permanent resident like the owner of the heart-shaped deer tracks I follow.