The other post I’ve apparently lost is the beginning of a winter themed writing challenge which I’ve decided to start because I love winter and it’s always good to do more of the writing. Although fair warning, they are all probably going to be fairly sentimental – it’s the season for it.
The wind whipped at her hair, long icy fingers clawing at her, mocking her for having to be out in the dead of winter. Well, dead of winter was probably an exaggeration but it was cold. It was in fact, what her Grandmother would have called “Sweater weather” and she had to admit that she might have a point. It was getting time to ditch the hoodies she had purchased from merch stands at gigs, which looked cool but were paper thin, in favour for something sturdier. In lieu of such good decisions, she had had to leave the house this morning wrapped in several t-shirts of varying sleeve length, long sleeved gloves and a thick scarf.
She loved the winter air, the smell of snow being close, the bracing fresh air, however, she also loved experiencing them when not shivering in what felt like the very marrow of her bones. So she picked up the pace. She was on her way home from her last lecture of the day and she was beginning to feel weary, but the wind kept her pushing forward. Finally, after a walk that was akin to trekking across the Alps, she turned the key in the lock of her house door.
Once inside she began to shed her layers, her house was always kept warm; a den of cosiness; a sanctuary from the cruel wind. The boots came off, the scarf, the hat, gloves, hoodie, and even her top t-shirt layer. Then she beelined for her wardrobe and the box that it contained at the very back. The box hadn’t been touched since she moved in months before, nor had it been opened for much longer than that. She brushed off the dust that had settled on the lid and opened it up. Inside was the most horrendously pattern Christmas themed sweater she had ever seen. It was one in a long line of handmade presents from her Grandmother and in any normal situation, it would be impossible to think about wearing it. But, her Grandmother was right, it was sweater weather. It was cold and miserable and suddenly her main goal in life was too be warm and snuggly not to look good. It was oversized and soft, the type of garment that was so thick that it made you feel like you could take on anything that the weather could throw at you. It was a sweater to take on the wind with.