Whiteout

whiteout–noun

1. Meteorology.
   
   1. a condition, found in polar regions, in which uniform illumination from snow on the ground and from a low cloud layer makes features of the landscape indistinguishable.
   2. a condition of heavily falling or blowing snow in which visibility is very poor.
2. an act or instance of whiting out with a correction fluid.
3. a white correction fluid used for this: a bottle of whiteout.
4. a mistake, as in typing, that has been whited out with a correction fluid.

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Winter is my second favourite season, after autumn. There is something so clean and crisp about new fallen snow. And it does have the same effect as whiting out the past. A new snowfall is a fresh start. It wipes away old mistakes. It is a clean slate. Perhaps this is why the ancient Celts began their year with winter approaching. The Celtic New Year is celebrated on November 1st, when the earth is dying. Winter is the season of the wise and wizened crone. When the sun is born on the winter solstice. Yuletide. The longest night of the year gives birth to the beginning of longer days as the sun begins to stretch and lengthen his fingers towards the longest day of the year, the summer solstice.

This isn't why I love the winter, though. I do feel a thrill over how the earth is blanketed in white. I adore when boughs are laden, when fences look frosted. But the primary reason I {heart} winter is because it is the season when I've tended to fall deeply in love, to fall with the soft, sensual slowness of huge, fist-sized flakes. The bulk of my memories of feeling first love or new love are tied up somehow with the sound of crunching snow underfoot on a walk holding mittened hands. With the breath of whispered words hanging solid in the cold, crisp air. With the memory of the aurora dancing above a first kiss. Making out to the crackling sound and smoky scent of a logfire burning. The first-time, butterfly-flipping and laughter-drenched lesson on how to do donuts in your car. How a full moon lights up the trees during a midnight cross-country ski. The sparkling blue diamonds of a snowy landscape at dusk when one's heart is filled up to the brim like a steamy mug of hot chocolate.

Whiteouts make for poor visibility. Love is blind.

This is why I love winter. Tis the season for cuddling, snuggling, for bundling up. For seeking warmth. For finding someone to get warm with. And this winter I've my own little bundle to snuggle. To share sticking out of tongues and tasting of snowflakes. To eke out the imprint of angels with flapping arms.
 I look at the snow that fell from the sky last night and painted my landscape a bright, new white. I will let it be my clean slate, the erasure of long-ago mistakes. A new beginning in my breast. And this winter, for the first time, my very own newborn son to celebrate. Yuletide approaches... Hallelujah.
*definition taken from an online dictionary.
Music: River, Joni Mitchell