Winter in the air

I’ve recently joined a Dutch writers group. We meet once a month and exercise our writing muscles. It’s like being back in school — we’re given homework, some of which I’ll post here.

This is my first piece.

WINTER IN THE AIR

Looking out of the living room window into the garden, I take ample time for coffee and a biscuit. On this November morning, the sun’s low. Its pale rays rise above my neighbour’s roof and to illuminate my terrace.

I’d swept the chocolate-brown oak leaves off the terrace yesterday, but it’s littered with them again — a never-ending story this time of the year. Looking closely, I see a thin layer of sugar glistening on the leaves. The weatherman was right about frost last night. 

A magpie hops among the withered bushes, searching for nuts. When it finds one, it bounds over to the planter to hide it amongst the winter pansies. I run outside to chase the back-and-white bird away. Immediately, I see my breath turn into little white clouds rising into the blue sky.

Nature is getting ready for a cold spell, which is why it’s gone quiet. The frogs in the pond have dug themselves down in the mud. Some plants look dead, but others are full of fire-red berries. The wind has died down, allowing the frost to turn the surface of the pond into a mirror of thin smooth ice. What sort of winter will we have? Will it be another of those soft winters? Or a true, undiluted winter?

I’m reminded of my first winter in the Netherlands, in December 1963, when the ice was thick enough to skate. I had never seen people on ice before. Young and old skated past me on the canal, creating a lively spectacle. I felt lonely standing on the path watching and ventured down onto the ice to get the feel. A woman came towards me with a pair of skates and helped me tie them on. When I stood up, my feet trembled and went all over the place, and I landed on my bottom. I persevered and after a few days, I could swish across the ice without falling. Every evening the canals were fairylike. Flames from torches threw their flickering light on the ice while I moved to the melody of romantic dance music emanating from loudspeakers in the trees. With any luck, I would be hand-in-hand with an attractive girl, our legs swaying in harmony with the music. How glad I was to skate!

I thought, “wonderful if winters in the Netherlands are always like this” because in England I’d never seen such a spectacle. But dare we still hope for a true, nostalgic winter? Under a clear blue sky, I want to hear the snow crunching under my feet and see long icicles twinkling in the pine trees. A white Christmas and the entire family round the table for Christmas pudding. A true winter that disrupts our world for a few days so that everyone’s reminded of what winter really is. 

My thoughts return to the now as a robin descends from the oak tree. It gazes at me with a questioning look. I nod back. We both know that even during the coldest of times, the promise of warmth and new life is always present.