That Winter Aesthetic

The main road that stretches through town is empty, yet still freshly paved as you walk down the sidewalk, salt crunching beneath your feet. The old-fashioned gas lamps flicker to life as the nearby clock tower chimes five o’clock. Picturesque buildings donned with Christmas lights twinkle all around; the only other sources of light as the first flakes of the day begin to fall on your small mountain town. The shops have closed for the day, people have retreated to their homes for the evening. You turn a corner to leave the Christmas village behind as you walk into the wooded neighborhood.

The sun hasn’t been out for days. Thick gray clouds hang low, grazing the tops of the pine trees that have settled into the winter. The biting cold air is enough to make anyone want to stay inside. But here you are, trudging through a snow-packed path that winds through the dense trees. There’s something magical about being here, outside, with the pristine snow piled at the base of the trees, untouched for weeks with this thin path carved through; it’s the only path in sight.

The clouds seemed to be at their bursting point all day. Heavy, dark, they stifle the sun and its warmth. It isn’t an oppressive darkness, nor is the wind a blowing kind of wind that chills you to your bones. Not yet, anyway. There’s a stillness to the air that makes the walk through it feel sluggish and full of effort as your lungs take in the piercing cold air. The snow flattens underneath your feet, your breath billows up in clouds as snowflakes drift lazily through the sky. The air feels close. The silence presses in on your ears and the noises of the distant highway seem to fade away, muffled, then become non-existent.

A thin coil of smoke drifts into the sky ahead, bringing your attention to the cabin in the small clearing in front of you. As the flakes drift by and Christmas lights hanging off of the roof twinkle ahead, a strange sense of warmth sets in. The closeness of the trees and the blanketing the ground seem to insulate the area. The still air seems to hold everything in place. Or maybe it’s the cabin and the smell of burning pine filling the clearing that warms the heart.

As you approach the door, you can hear piano music coming from inside. The porch is a welcome retreat from the falling snow. Boots, still caked in snow, rest outside the door. A wave of scents hit you as you walk in. Apple pie is baking in the oven. Mulled wine is simmering on the stovetop. Holiday music fills your ears. A warm welcome from friends.

As the day goes on, you forget about the mounting snowstorm outside, except for brief glimpses of swirling snow through the windows. The commotion of the party dies down here and there, just enough for the sound of the blowing wind to remind the party-goers of the upcoming snowstorm. The worst is on the horizon, but for now, it’s pleasant. It feels so cold out there, and safe in here. It’s that winter aesthetic you’ve been waiting for.