December: it’s cold outside

By Simer Dhume

Oh December, the month of joy, happiness, festivities and for some long nature walks. When the first winter breeze blows through the bare trees you feel the magic in the air. Short days, and long cozy evenings are spent curling up on the couch with your favorite book. Or if you’re adventurous like the Hints Of life team you’ll venture out in the cold for outdoor nature activities. In the North Hemisphere winter is nearly upon us. It’s already cold and some by now have snow to prove it in Upstate New York and the Mid Atlantic region.

When you think of winter you think of snow. Though not everyone lives by the snow clad mountains, nonetheless, there is something whimsical about December. A month of new season, change, and celebrations. A great time to be outdoors. On a cold, grey day when it’s so quite outside, with barely a soul in Central Park you’ll find a Black-capped Chickadee perched on a snow covered branch in the Ramble. Its sweet melody will warm your heart for many cold nights that’ll follow.

white and black bird on tree branch

Black-capped Chickadee

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December 
A magical thing
And sweet to remember
~ Oliver Herford
December snow in Central park | from the Archives | © 2021

Winter is best felt through poetry. It’s a timeless truth that poetry and nature go hand in hand. Winter poetry arouses the deepest feelings and emotions in the readers. Hints Of Life in its ‘December series‘ will celebrate a selection of classic and contemporary poems about winter from Robert Frost, Gillian Clarke, Edgar Allen Poe and our guest writes to enjoy during the coldest season.

First, in the series is ‘Stopping by Woods on a snowy Evening,’ by Robert Frost. The best winter poem ever written in history.

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

Robert Frost – 1874-1963

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


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