Winter Ode to December

Snow dust swirling in the light of night lamps ⛤ whisper of snowy pines ⛤ moonlight on a frozen road

The December winter landscape under the Tatras has long since ceased to be full of snow. For some years, at least the beginning of the month brought a smaller snow cover, but this year it disappeared after a few days and just as gloomy as November was, apart from a few pinkish sunrises and sunsets, December was just as gloomy.

With the arrival of long dark nights, I had discussions with a few friends about how these long nights affect us and how, despite the time, we have never gotten used to winter nights and we cannot even imagine the nights and days beyond the Arctic Circle.

Due to my health problem, which I have been dealing with for the last six months, I cannot fully enjoy even long walks with the Wolf, on which I could perfectly clear my head and recharge my energy. That's why I feel more nervous, more tired, as if a darkness has settled somewhere deep in my soul, nesting there and not wanting to let go. I can't blame her. There haven't been many reasons to be happy in the last four years. This will be our first Christmas without my grandfather, even though we haven't been able to spend three Christmases with him, and it will be the third Christmas without my father.

I think about him often, especially during Christmas, because he loved them very much. If he was in a bad mood a million times during the year, he never was at Christmas. We used to decorate the Christmas tree only on Christmas Eve morning, December 24th, Christmas stories or carols would play in the background, whoever could helped prepare Christmas Eve dinner, we took turns doing everything and we fasted all day, even though we always secretly poured ourselves a glass of eggnog or ate a spoonful of potato salad. When everything was ready, we got dressed nicely and went to the cemetery, where we lit candles on all the graves of our loved ones. My grandfather's grave is far away, so we won't be able to go there, but visiting my father's grave at Christmas is still the hardest for me.

We used to live two and a half streets from that cemetery, and as a child it was very magical for me when we would walk home after dark through the lit streets, where the Christmas tree lights were twinkling outside the windows, and I would imagine all those people having dinner or unwrapping gifts. The most beautiful thing was when it started to snow. The snow dust swirling in the light of the street lamps settled on the sidewalk and crunched under our feet, and the moonlight reflected off the road. The wind whistled softly as if it were playing carols on a flute right in our ears. It would be wonderful to be able to go back in time at least once, even if only to peek through the frost on the window into our living room, when grandma was still sitting there…

This year is slowly saying goodbye to us, but its end carries the promise of a new beginning. In its final moments, there is hope hidden – hope for spring sunshine, new adventures, and that our love and traditions will endure.