Winter Nights

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What are whispers for but secrets.

What are moonlit nights for but enchantments.

What are dreams for but adventure.

We are the children of summer nights, born when the fairies were dancing.  When the winter came, we stared out the windows wide-eyed as flakes of ice drifted from the sky.  Prickling cold nipped at our ears and toes, sending us running to find thick stockings and warm hats.  We wished for our summer with chilled breath.

Winter days were piercing and cold and waiting, holding back the trees and grass and flowers as if putting them to sleep so they could wake in a kinder season.

But then the sun fell, and night began long before we would be sent to bed.

Summer nights were for falling exhausted into slumber, waiting for the day to come and sweep us off our feet again.

Winter nights, however, spread open welcoming arms, inviting us to a strange new world.  Winter nights were for doing without deadlines, they were for trying without thought of failure, and they were for questioning without fear of knowing.  Darkness came quickly and lingered into the edges of morning, and even so, we found ourselves sleeping less and less.

It was a fast discovery we fell upon, realizing how much we wanted to do and learn, how very far we wanted to go.

What are whispers for but to leave the sleeping undisturbed.

What are moonlit nights for but to pile into the same bed and tell stories.

What are dreams for but to chase after.

The chill air gave us clear minds, the growing dark gave us dreamy thoughts.  The biting days sent our blood racing, the lingering nights wrapped us in limitless possibilities.  It was a good thing for summer to come eventually, or we would become strange creatures, hungering after impossible dreams.

We are the children of summer nights, and it is important for us to return home after a time.

No longer was there doing without deadlines, but there was doing in the sight of everyone and getting it done.  No longer was there trying without thought of failure, but there was trying and trying and moving forward because of it.  No longer was there questioning without fear of knowing, but there was questioning with the satisfaction of landing upon answers.

No longer were there wakeful nights; but there were restful ones, preparing us for the challenges of day.

We were born with the love for warmth and light, but how quickly we have fallen into a love for cold and dark as well.  I wonder how it is for the children of winter, how strange they must have felt when they found themselves in unusually long golden days.  I hope they grow to love it like we do, for what are changes for but to learn.

What are seasons for but to press forward time.

What are differences for but to grow.

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