Winter never fails to astound you. When one sits on a bench in a park with a pen and a blank paper surrounded with a plethora of winter anecdotes, words take no time to fill the parchment and whims too surge high in us. It is the season that never makes us feel sluggish no matter how agitating our daily schedule be. It is when on one morning you fling out of your bedroom and run in quick strides to the verandah just to find as if the sky is beckoning and the breeze giving you a chill. It all seems an abrupt process.

Each and every season marvellously presents a specific trait of the nature to adapt accordingly. I never associate winter with monochrome. I am sure if we touch its mystery with our inner eye it would imprint an involuntary smile on our faces. Winter unconditionally welcomes us all to its poetic world. It takes us to some unknown distant land replenished with reminiscence. Winter happens to be a beautiful boon to earthly folks.

I also equate winter with nostalgia. This season helps us in collecting the broken segments of our memoirs and fixes them into one explicit picture. It also provides us with the expectation to outlive our worst fears that haunts us now and then. Ironically, winter brings along soothing warmth with itself that adorns our soul with outright devotion and fidelity.

A bare branch of a peepal tree eerily appears like a tall apparition but its stripped branches fail to enjoy the mirth of winter and seem to accusingly say, “Come Spring, we will be verdant again”. The overwhelming network of seasons form an unending circular maze where we fail to discern its beginning and its end.

There can be no spring without winter and vice-versa highlighted lucidly by Erin Hanson in her words:

“Because the birdsong might be pretty, /But it’s not for you they sing, /And if you think my winter is too cold, /You don’t deserve my spring.”

Coordinator, Class XI, St. Teresa’s Secondary School, Khidderpore