Winter

I always hate being alone at night. Except in the winter. I think it's something about how in the winter the snow brightens the darkness outside. I love the snow. I'm really looking forward to sledding and ice-skating and snowball fights and snow forts and snowmen and quiet magical walks in the freezing cold. Not to mention Christmas and New Years and all sorts of other good things. I love Christmas. I love the lights and the decorations and the mood that everyone gets into and the meaning behind it all. I love setting up the tree and decorating the living room and making presents. I love this time of year.

And so I begin

Assurance by William Stafford

You will never be alone, you hear so deep
a sound when autumn comes. Yellow
pulls across the hills and thrums,
or in the silence after lightning before it says
its names-and then the clouds' wide-mouthed
apologies. You were aimed from birth:
you will never be alone. Rain
will come, a gutter filled, an Amazon,
long aisles-you never heard so deep a sound,
moss on rock, and years. You turn your head-
that's what the silence meant: you're not alone.
The whole wide world pours down

This is my favorite poem, and I thought it fitting that I begin with it, especially on this wet, autumnal evening.  The trees outside my windows are waving fitfully and the orange streetlights are shining on the wet leaves.  I love this weather.