Winter Walks

A few nights ago, I went for a walk in the cold. Perhaps it’s the fact that I’m so easily amused, but it’s always kind of thrilling to me to put on my heavy boots (which make me invincible, you know), and tromp through the slush and snow. I like the way it feels bundled up inside my hood, my own body heat held closely between the layers. I like how ridiculous it feels to be all wrapped up in some amalgamation of winter gear. I watch other people rushing around, shoulders hunched up against the cold, pink faces, clouds of breath in the air. It always makes me laugh, although I’m not quite sure what it is that I find so ridiculous about the whole thing.

But in the moments where the people are gone, it’s really rather peaceful, like pockets of solitude. In the city, people are always out and about, even in the wee hours of the morning, so you’re never really alone unless you’re at home (and even then, you hear your neighbors in the apartments adjacent or above). But in the wintertime, the pedestrians thin out in the evenings, so you can go whole stretches without seeing a single person headed your way. No, it’s not silent, because there’s still traffic—so, you know, it’s not perfect stillness. It’s certainly not akin to a walk in the woods. But I can liken it to how I feel when I walk down by the lake, away from the beaches, during the summer. You can have whole moments to yourself, even though the city is moving at a rapid pace to your west. It’s refreshing.