#Winter

As a child, winter evenings meant gathering around the TV for the weather forecast, then preparing for the cold night ahead. We'd carry a tin can, secure the door with a wooden plank, and tuck a hot saltwater bottle into bed to keep warm. These simple rituals—watching the forecast, sealing the house, and warming the sheets—were our nightly routine. They speak to a time when comfort came from small, deliberate acts, and the chill outside made the warmth inside feel even more precious. This memory captures the quiet, tender side of growing up in a colder era.

Thirty-five years ago, on a snowy winter evening, our home was filled with warmth and laughter. The snow fell heavily outside, but inside, the fire crackled and family gathered close, sharing stories and hot drinks. That scene—so simple yet so precious—has never returned. Now, as I look back, I realize how those quiet moments shaped my understanding of home and belonging. This is a gentle reflection on a time that exists only in memory, a reminder of the fleeting nature of joy and the enduring power of love.