Winter inspires me and pushes me to write...
I like winter. While some people complain about days that are getting shorter because of the time change and others already fear winter temperatures, I'm looking forward to the sunset.
I don't really know why, but I love the night and I love the cold. So when winter chooses to make its appearance, I know in advance that I will feel good, calmed even.
As long as I can remember, I have always felt good at this time of year. I preferred going to school at nightfall, talking with my friends in the parking lot of the bus that was going to take me home a little later. One hour drive through the countryside, from village to village.
While some were chatting under the light of the few streetlights that were there, others took advantage of the night to exchange a few languorous kisses away from the glances. The first high school sweethearts...
I've never really feared the cold. Probably because I knew that a good fire was waiting for me at home to warm my body and heart after a hard day at school. In the winter, dining with my parents in front of the fireplace was one of my favourite times.
All you had to do was pull out the small wooden trolley on which all the necessary food was placed. We ate while listening to the crackling of the fire, the radio in background sound. The perfect time was Friday night. One, or rather a seventh guest joined us, my parents, my sister, me, the cat and the dog.
Zoe Varier was sitting in the living room, only her voice at last. She came to us on the airwaves, in her show Listen... angels pass by. It was between 1999 and 2004 on France Inter. I would have liked her to share with us these moments by the fire, telling us about her many encounters that she had the chance to make during her fabulous reports.
I will always remember this scene that was repeated every time we decided to light the fireplace: the glow of the flames reflected in the eyes of our pussy spread out all along the edge of the coffee table, one meter from the hearth. She loved to feel the warmth on her belly, her eyes said a lot about the pleasure she felt in those moments.
I also remember very well my father smoking his pipe behind his diary. He always sat in his armchair on the right side of the fireplace, next to the wicker basket, which was used to transport the wood. The room was then filled with the smell of pipe tobacco, which was not at all unpleasant.
It was a long time ago, my father had quit smoking when I was still a little boy. But at that time, like all little boys, I wanted to do what my daddy did. I wanted to smoke by the fire too, I wanted to be a man too.
My parents had finally bought me a little plastic pipe with its lighter, plastic as well of course. Even if there was no smoke coming out of my vehicle, what was I proud of at the time to be able to do like my father!
The moments spent with my family around this fireplace are one of my fondest memories. Sadder ones too.
I cried a lot while letting my gaze get lost in the flames inside this fireplace. I often sought comfort by staring at the red and orange embers, sometimes even burning my skin because I was so close to home.
I could spend hours observing the wood fire, it was part of the relaxing moments that made me feel so good.
The seasons are disappearing. Man's fault, him again. The bugger, he's stealing my winter and I'm standing here, helpless, without knowing what to do to reverse the trend.
I'd like to do something, but how? By becoming a gardener of the world as Jean-Baptiste Jlt? Maybe so, at least the idea is beautiful.
For my old age, I would like to be able to enjoy the long winter nights by the chimney, lost all the way up in the mountains.
When I'm just an old branch that is slowly but surely burning down, I would like to be able to observe the reflection of the flames in my cat's eyes again.
I would like to be able to continue writing at the rhythm of the seasons, finding inspiration in this world that lives and breathes despite the constant pressure that man inflicts on it.
So let's preserve nature as best we can, and keep telling stories.
Save yourself a love for your old age. Start a fire early for your winter.
- Victor Hugo
img credz: pixabay.com
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Start a fire early for your winter and save yourself