Yesterday Hugo and I took a walk on the Licking River path. Gray, cold, damp day. I love the hazy grays of the bare branches and the pale ochres of the dried grasses. For now I love this weather and this landscape. Its December. Its almost Christmas. Come February I may be singing a different song.
This is the view this morning of the rooftops across the street. Just enough snow to frost the roofs.
Gaston Bachelard writes about the poetics of winter and the poetics refuge. He quotes THomas DeQuincy, snowed in a small cottage in Wales (and smoking opium).
“Isn’t it true that a pleasant house makes winter more poetic, and doesn’t winter add to the poetry of a house?”
And that is the essence of the charms of winter: being inside looking out. And a fireplace is essential for truly enjoying a cold, gray day.
This is where I spent the day.
And here are several more rooms in which I might enjoy settling in on a winter day.