You know them as beautiful, fierce rulers of icy realms, bringers of cold wind and swirling storms, residing in glacial palaces, earlobe and finger bedecked in colorless gems, wrist and neck trimmed in white fur, pale of skin, ageless, bones like shards of ice, and eyes the color of sky frozen in iceberg.
You are drawn into their sleigh by a box of candies, or offer of a ride, or perhaps bespelled by a tiny sliver of ice that has worked its way into your eye. Or after miles of trudging through snow with only a reindeer to guide you, you sneak into their castle to win back something precious. In any case, these frozen beings will try to woo you and you will not be immune to their allure. It’s best to avoid them altogether.
The world never promises beauty will align with safety. Winter’s beauty is dangerous. The ice on the pond may not hold your weight, the mountainside’s snow may lose its grip and swallow you in a rush. The tiny sparkle of a single snowflake enchants, but collectively the snow engulfs. Spend too long outside and the cold grows hungry, taking first your fingers and toes—or worse, your heart.
Even the less powerful spirits of winter, not ensconced in translucent towers, but instead traveling the countryside, are not to be trifled with. Jack Frost paints a tracery of ice on window panes and no leaf escapes his dusting of brittle, white bloom. Old songs warn of not letting him in—because there’s always one who dares a kiss, thinking to be the one who will finally endure his icy embrace.
The love of the winter is one that must go unrequited. The water which daily gives us life, once frozen, knows only how to love through possession. It will encompass you like no other love ever will, but the price is exacting. It will demand your complete devotion. Take care, this is a lover you will not dance with twice. Let them court you from afar, but never fall asleep in their embrace.
There’s a reason we have learned to guard our hearts against this season. There’s a good chance you are the wise sort who bundles up, complains of the chill, and does not linger out of doors. And yet, I write this because there’s a chance you’re the sort who runs out bare headed and catches snowflakes on your tongue, the one who walks barefoot on the frosted lawn and dreams of melting frozen hearts. You think you will succeed where others have failed but Winter will never give up its realm for you. And once you’ve felt a shiver of their touch, the intensity of their longing, it will be difficult to settle for anything less. It has been many years since I dared myself. I am still not completely content in the companionable warmth beside the hearth.