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Enter Poem or Quote (Required) My auntie winter's icy breath wacked my bare face hard, when I step out earlier on She gave me the cold shoulder and iced me out with a frosty glare for no reason at all it's her season though so she gets to call the shots I love her gift of fluffy snowflakes that melt on my tongue and adorn the tree like precious gemstones It's like the clouds descend to our level to fellowship with the Earth And we get a chance to touch and taste a piece of the heavens The idea of direct contact with a part of the skies fills me with awe That's until my pathway suddenly turns into an icy death trap to this day my hip still creaks from my first tumble on the day of my initiation to the slippery snow trot, cousin to the popular foxtrot But I still await snow showers with bated breath every year I always stick my tongue out to catch a few flakes as they float by and I can never resist flailing around on the ground like a beached whale as I try to make a snow angel in my front garden my heart still skips a beat when I look out the window and the world dons a white luxurious coat of snow like the backdrop of a fairytale, so surreal and a wonder to see every single time My soul stirs whenever I come across a dusting of snow on dried up leaves and twigs for the first time when winter arrives Something dying and another being born, lying right there side by side like a piece of still art Its a bitter sweet symphony strummed directly from the strings of my soul, as I mourn what I have to shed but still feel a flicker of excitement for what's to come My auntie arrives and her chill sneaks into my brittle bones to freeze my joints and leave me aching and snivelling with the cold, as I shuffle around in a stiff jointed robotic gait then she gifts me a crimson red nose like I asked to be a circus clown But catching the silver lining always makes it all worthwhile in the end It's the perfect time for a snuggle with a good book while warming up under the covers Long evenings spent in the kitchen listening to African jazz and baking tasty sweet bread like my mom used to, as I surrender to nostalgia Later some of it will be turned into rusks to be dunked into mugs of cocoa, milo or even rooibois While it bakes, I bring out the pestle and mortar to grind the spices and pound the biltong into a pulp, as I ready the ingredients for the perfect winter supper just like the aunties used to A perfect excuse to enjoy thick creamy soups and thick porridge swirled in velvety sour milk with a dried mulberry topping all day long, food that seduces the palate and warms up the soul And a good reason to overindulge in long luxurious pampering milk, oatmeal and raw honey soaks to keep the chill at bay Before smothering the body in shea butter and anointing it with morula oil to complete the ritual that pays tribute to the temple that carries your being and houses your beautiful soul Winter is the queen of self indulgence and reinvention, She is the auntie who honours self care and shadow work Quietness calls out enticingly to the soul, like a playful lover, as stillness fills the air when my auntie winter enters our realm As the trees continue to shed the old and work on renewal, they inspire us to do the same in answer to nature's call In response we realign and ground to the mother in worship at the command of our great auntie winter the high priestess of renewal She is ordained by mother Earth to slow down the roll for the purge to sweep across the land My regal auntie winter steps in with tough love to fulfil her seasonal duties, as she nudges us to let go of what no longer serves us And we welcome the relief of unloading, we celebrate the pamper chamber she avails and appreciate the gift of rebirth that she brings us
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