You Winter's Song
By Andy Morris
For the last few weeks, I've been sat here by the window looking out for you. I've watched the golden fires of autumn slowly give way to the grey canvas of winter, and I knew my wait would soon be over. It seems like a lifetime since we were last together. It always feels like that but, I know you're on your way, and you’ll be here soon. I feel your presence every time I step outside. You’re there in the cold frosty air; in the glow of Christmas lights and; in the excited laughter of children. You’ve been getting closer and more real every day. Occasionally, when it's quiet, I think I can hear your song and I long to sing it with you. Oh, how I cherish these moments; the anticipation of your arrival. Sometimes I think, quite selfishly perhaps, that it’s good that no one else knows you as I do. This way, I have you all to myself. But then I'm reminded that when go, I’ll have no one to share these moments.
That's why sadness always tinges my excitement for your visit. It’s the acute awareness that our time to be together is fleeting. You will stay for a few days, maybe a few weeks and it will be magical. But then you must leave, and I'll be all alone until next year. In the past, I thought it might get easier in time, but it never does. I'll wake up one morning and find you are simply, gone!
What’s more, I’ve never even your face. It’s always hidden behind bright lights, the source of which I cannot see. I do suspect, with a deep level of certainty, that you have a kindly face. How could it be anything else? Oh, how I wish I could look upon you and see who you truly are. I suppose it adds to the magic and mystery of the season, but it’s over too quickly. I know you feel the same way. We never have enough time together, but perhaps, sometime soon, that will change.
Over the last few months, I've been wondering: When I am gone, will there be anyone else to listen to your song or am I the last? As you know, I lived here alone for many years. I have no children and, my brother and sisters never knew you, so what will happen? Will you still come, despite there being none of us left? Was it even us you came to see? Or are you somehow bound to the cottage or the entire farm? Perhaps you’ll reveal yourself to the new owners when the probate is all sorted out? Or maybe you'll find another family? Oh, how these questions have tumbled through my mind. You haven't answered them, but I'm sure you have your reasons.
You always say I’m full of questions. Maybe I should have been a reporter when I was younger?
I can feel you here now. You're in the room with me, aren't you? I can't see you yet, but that wonderful cosy feeling has come back. It’s always there when you’re near. It’s like you have a magical aura that surrounds anyone you’re with and fills them with warmth and joy. That’s why I left the windows open tonight. I don’t need to heat the cottage when you’re here - you do that for me. I wasn’t always so keen to let you in though was I? Do you remember?
When I first became aware of you, I was actually afraid. Imagine that! I must have been about five years old, and I distinctly remember lying in bed cuddling Annabel, my doll and knowing you were by my window. I could sense rather than see you, but I knew with absolute certainty that you were there. Sometimes you’d be in the garden or downstairs in the living room. I didn’t understand who or what you were. I couldn't hear your song at first, and I was frightened. My parents just thought it was a bad dream. A combination of too much sugar and excitement – that’s why I wasn’t sleeping! They didn’t understand, but Nana Collins did.
It was Nana Collins who told me about you and explained who you are. She may have been going senile, but she could see and hear you just fine. Nana Collins explained how she always looked forward to your visits. She’d stay up every night during the festive season to be with you, and she encouraged me to do the same. When she came to stay, she'd try to persuade Mum and Dad to let me stay up as well, but it never worked. By then, it was okay because I knew who you were. You were no longer the creature under my bed. You’d become a visitor who came to see us every Christmas and sing your winter’s song.
As time passed, I began to look out for you each year. Familiarity blossomed into friendship, and you became like a teacher or an older brother who would always look out for me and make me laugh.
Apart from Nana Collins, no one else in the family knew of you. That made me feel special. I tried talking to my parents about you, but they didn’t believe me. They just thought I had a very active imagination from reading too many books. That was frustrating, so in the end, I stopped trying to tell people about you, and you became the secret friend I only see once a year.
As a teenager, I know I became distant. I showed less interest in you, and for that; I am sorry. My friends and I were desperate to grow up and be a part of the adult world. Oh, how naive we were back then! I spent much of my time out with my class-mates or staying with boyfriends. During those years; I became so absorbed in my own life that my awareness of you waned. I was closed off, but you were patient. You allowed me to have fun, and I think you continued to look over me. Even when I was out late at night, drunk as a skunk at some Christmas party I think I still felt you there; like an unseen chaperone watching over me, keeping me safe.
It’s getting cold in here now. The window is still open, and the fire is going out, but that’s fine. Let me finish my little glass of sherry, its the good stuff that I only drink on special occasions.
Now then, where was I? Oh yes, you have always been there for me. More than just a companion, you’ve been my guide through life. Or is it more than that? I sometimes wonder if you're the reason I never married. I think I chose to remain single so nothing could spoil these few special days we have together. If I'm honest, I have felt lonely at times but, if anyone were to ask me if it's been worth it? I wouldn't hesitate to say "Yes!" Anyone in my position would say the same.
Every now and then I hear people talk about you, but it’s less frequent these days. They don’t know who or what you are. They only know you as a feeling, a reflection of something warm and comforting. I saw it with Mum and Dad once or twice. Your visits may have lifted a memory or blessed them with a moment of pure contentedness over Christmas. They would smile and seem totally at peace with everything. But then they would catch themselves and lurch back to the present with all their day-to-day troubles and then carry on as if nothing had happened.
They’re both long gone now, as is Nana Collins. Your visits always remind me of them, and of the other people I’ve lost along the way. That is the gift you bring each year and so thanks to you they are never truly gone. I’ve never seen them again, however, not like you.
So, where do you go, I wonder. Does time pass for you as it does for us? Are you aware of the passing of the seasons? Or does one Christmas merge into the next and you see us as we are one moment, only to blink and find we have suddenly aged another twelve months? Or that one of us is no longer here?
Every year I yearn for you to take me with you when you leave, but you never do. Maybe you can't? But perhaps this year will be different? I’ve been slowing down recently, fading like the hazy winter sun and I know it won’t be long before it sets forever.
It is dark outside now, and I've let the fire go out. It doesn't matter, not to me anyway. My health is poor and, I'm sure my neighbours and Dr Glennister would be appalled to find me here like this with the windows wide open. I’m smiling because they needn’t worry. I don’t feel the cold tonight. It’s true, my bones often feel like ice, and they have done for many months but that no longer matters.
I think I'll have one last glass of sherry and then I'll be ready.
You’ve always been one for tradition, haven't you? So, I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re choosing to appear now; just as the clock is striking midnight? You look different this time and, it takes me a moment to realise what it is: It’s your face. I can finally see your face and are more handsome than I ever imagined. That too makes me smile because I should have expected nothing less from you. As I get up out of my chair, I feel free. The aches and pains of old age have lifted, and I dance my way into your embrace. You lead me outside into the night, but it’s not cold and, strangely; it’s no longer dark. Snow has fallen and covered the garden and, just for a moment, I am sorry that I missed it but, you quickly reassure me. I can now watch the snowfall whenever I wish, for as of tonight your winter’s song has become our duet.
That's why sadness always tinges my excitement for your visit. It’s the acute awareness that our time to be together is fleeting. You will stay for a few days, maybe a few weeks and it will be magical. But then you must leave, and I'll be all alone until next year. In the past, I thought it might get easier in time, but it never does. I'll wake up one morning and find you are simply, gone!
What’s more, I’ve never even your face. It’s always hidden behind bright lights, the source of which I cannot see. I do suspect, with a deep level of certainty, that you have a kindly face. How could it be anything else? Oh, how I wish I could look upon you and see who you truly are. I suppose it adds to the magic and mystery of the season, but it’s over too quickly. I know you feel the same way. We never have enough time together, but perhaps, sometime soon, that will change.
Over the last few months, I've been wondering: When I am gone, will there be anyone else to listen to your song or am I the last? As you know, I lived here alone for many years. I have no children and, my brother and sisters never knew you, so what will happen? Will you still come, despite there being none of us left? Was it even us you came to see? Or are you somehow bound to the cottage or the entire farm? Perhaps you’ll reveal yourself to the new owners when the probate is all sorted out? Or maybe you'll find another family? Oh, how these questions have tumbled through my mind. You haven't answered them, but I'm sure you have your reasons.
You always say I’m full of questions. Maybe I should have been a reporter when I was younger?
I can feel you here now. You're in the room with me, aren't you? I can't see you yet, but that wonderful cosy feeling has come back. It’s always there when you’re near. It’s like you have a magical aura that surrounds anyone you’re with and fills them with warmth and joy. That’s why I left the windows open tonight. I don’t need to heat the cottage when you’re here - you do that for me. I wasn’t always so keen to let you in though was I? Do you remember?
When I first became aware of you, I was actually afraid. Imagine that! I must have been about five years old, and I distinctly remember lying in bed cuddling Annabel, my doll and knowing you were by my window. I could sense rather than see you, but I knew with absolute certainty that you were there. Sometimes you’d be in the garden or downstairs in the living room. I didn’t understand who or what you were. I couldn't hear your song at first, and I was frightened. My parents just thought it was a bad dream. A combination of too much sugar and excitement – that’s why I wasn’t sleeping! They didn’t understand, but Nana Collins did.
It was Nana Collins who told me about you and explained who you are. She may have been going senile, but she could see and hear you just fine. Nana Collins explained how she always looked forward to your visits. She’d stay up every night during the festive season to be with you, and she encouraged me to do the same. When she came to stay, she'd try to persuade Mum and Dad to let me stay up as well, but it never worked. By then, it was okay because I knew who you were. You were no longer the creature under my bed. You’d become a visitor who came to see us every Christmas and sing your winter’s song.
As time passed, I began to look out for you each year. Familiarity blossomed into friendship, and you became like a teacher or an older brother who would always look out for me and make me laugh.
Apart from Nana Collins, no one else in the family knew of you. That made me feel special. I tried talking to my parents about you, but they didn’t believe me. They just thought I had a very active imagination from reading too many books. That was frustrating, so in the end, I stopped trying to tell people about you, and you became the secret friend I only see once a year.
As a teenager, I know I became distant. I showed less interest in you, and for that; I am sorry. My friends and I were desperate to grow up and be a part of the adult world. Oh, how naive we were back then! I spent much of my time out with my class-mates or staying with boyfriends. During those years; I became so absorbed in my own life that my awareness of you waned. I was closed off, but you were patient. You allowed me to have fun, and I think you continued to look over me. Even when I was out late at night, drunk as a skunk at some Christmas party I think I still felt you there; like an unseen chaperone watching over me, keeping me safe.
It’s getting cold in here now. The window is still open, and the fire is going out, but that’s fine. Let me finish my little glass of sherry, its the good stuff that I only drink on special occasions.
Now then, where was I? Oh yes, you have always been there for me. More than just a companion, you’ve been my guide through life. Or is it more than that? I sometimes wonder if you're the reason I never married. I think I chose to remain single so nothing could spoil these few special days we have together. If I'm honest, I have felt lonely at times but, if anyone were to ask me if it's been worth it? I wouldn't hesitate to say "Yes!" Anyone in my position would say the same.
Every now and then I hear people talk about you, but it’s less frequent these days. They don’t know who or what you are. They only know you as a feeling, a reflection of something warm and comforting. I saw it with Mum and Dad once or twice. Your visits may have lifted a memory or blessed them with a moment of pure contentedness over Christmas. They would smile and seem totally at peace with everything. But then they would catch themselves and lurch back to the present with all their day-to-day troubles and then carry on as if nothing had happened.
They’re both long gone now, as is Nana Collins. Your visits always remind me of them, and of the other people I’ve lost along the way. That is the gift you bring each year and so thanks to you they are never truly gone. I’ve never seen them again, however, not like you.
So, where do you go, I wonder. Does time pass for you as it does for us? Are you aware of the passing of the seasons? Or does one Christmas merge into the next and you see us as we are one moment, only to blink and find we have suddenly aged another twelve months? Or that one of us is no longer here?
Every year I yearn for you to take me with you when you leave, but you never do. Maybe you can't? But perhaps this year will be different? I’ve been slowing down recently, fading like the hazy winter sun and I know it won’t be long before it sets forever.
It is dark outside now, and I've let the fire go out. It doesn't matter, not to me anyway. My health is poor and, I'm sure my neighbours and Dr Glennister would be appalled to find me here like this with the windows wide open. I’m smiling because they needn’t worry. I don’t feel the cold tonight. It’s true, my bones often feel like ice, and they have done for many months but that no longer matters.
I think I'll have one last glass of sherry and then I'll be ready.
You’ve always been one for tradition, haven't you? So, I shouldn’t be surprised that you’re choosing to appear now; just as the clock is striking midnight? You look different this time and, it takes me a moment to realise what it is: It’s your face. I can finally see your face and are more handsome than I ever imagined. That too makes me smile because I should have expected nothing less from you. As I get up out of my chair, I feel free. The aches and pains of old age have lifted, and I dance my way into your embrace. You lead me outside into the night, but it’s not cold and, strangely; it’s no longer dark. Snow has fallen and covered the garden and, just for a moment, I am sorry that I missed it but, you quickly reassure me. I can now watch the snowfall whenever I wish, for as of tonight your winter’s song has become our duet.