Quotes about Winter

Before the bud swells, before the grass springs, before the plough is started, comes the sugar harvest.  It is sequel of the bitter frost; a sap run is the sweet goodbye of winter.

I please myself with the graces of the winter scenery, and believe that we are as much touched by it as by the genial influences of summer.

Like the seeds dreaming beneath the snow your heart dreams of spring.

a wise man once asked,

"When the snow melts what do you do?"

"Stay inside and wish it were spring..." replied the girl.

After slapping himself on his forehead he sighed and replied,

"You avoid the yellow snow..." he said pointing to her boots now sunken in yellowish substance.

Once more I am the silent one
who came out of the distance
wrapped in cold rain and bells:
I owe to earth's pure death
the will to sprout.

I stood on the balcony dark with mourning...
hoping the earth would spread its wings
in my uninhabited love.

I am a book of snow,
a spacious hand, an open meadow,
a circle that waits,
I belong to the earth and its winter.

What is life? It is a flash of a firefly in the night. It is the breath of a buffalo in the wintertime. It is the little shadow which runs across the grass and loses itself in the sunset.

Good King Wenceslas looked out
On the feast of Stephen
When the snow lay round about
Deep and crisp and even
Brightly shone the moon that night
Though the frost was cruel
When a poor man came in sight
Gathering winter fuel

We sleep, and at length awake to the still reality of a winter morning.  The snow lies warm as cotton or down upon the window-sill; the broadened sash and frosted panes admit a dim and private light, which enhances the snug cheer within.  The stillness of the morning is impressive...  From the eaves and fences hang stalactites of snow, and in the yard stand stalagmites covering some concealed core.  The trees and shrubs rear white arms to the sky on every side; and where were walls and fences we see fantastic forms stretching in the frolic gambols across the dusky landscape, as if nature had strewn her fresh designs over the fields by night as models for man's art.

Mid-December is thus one of the most positively magical times of the year.  Things are possible during December's darkening days that are not even dreamt of at other spokes of the Wheel of the Year.  We should use this magic as a vehicle for deepening our awareness of the world around us and preparing our souls for the ongoing pilgrimage of our lives.  A seeker of Wisdom in the thrall of Winter's Solstice should consider their celebrations as a spiritual pilgrimage or even a quest, during which, through the disciplined use of the spiritual imagination, he or she may encounter one's own truest self along the way and in communion with Spirit.

What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night;
It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time;
It is the little shadow which runs across the grass
And loses itself in the sunset.

One kind word can warm three winter months.

After a long day, folk rest at night.  After a long summer, folk play games and sit about in the winter.  After a long life folk sit about the fire and stay warm, for the chill of death is upon them, and even the thickest bearskin can't keep off the shivering.

For me, gardening is a form of prayer. Most people have an awareness of life and death, but few have an an awareness of life, death, and life again. Gardeners do though.

Bulbs come up every spring. Then in winter, it looks like there's nothing there, no hope for life ever again. Then, Hallelujah! Next spring they're back even fuller. Perennials - same thing.

Annuals have a slightly different lesson. Annuals really do die, but they broadcast seeds before they go. Where there was only one calendula the year before, there will be ten this year, and one day, they will fill every empty space in your garden. Annuals are a lesson in the difference one living thing, plant or person, can make, and how their presence resonates long after they're gone. There again, the effects are not immediate. There is always the winter. And when you consider the garden as a whole, well, winter is a time to reflect, a time to dream. It gives you time to ask the big questions...

Gardening is an affirmation of divine timing. Some years, in early spring, my enthusiasm takes an ugly turn, and I seemingly believe I can make spring happen earlier than it normally would, if I just work hard enough, if I till enough, compost enough, harden off seedlings earlier than I normally would. In the end, I wind up with twelve flats of dead seedlings. Then I direct seed a couple months later, and with much less effort, everything grows into the full glory it was destined to encompass. To everything there is a season. Amen.

One morning I woke up and decided to look out the window, to see where we were. We were flying over America and suddenly I saw snow, the first ever we saw from orbit. Light and powdery, it blended with the contours of the land, with veins of rivers. I thought—autumn, snow—people are getting ready for winter. A few minutes later, we were flying over the Atlantic, then Europe, and then Russia. I have never visited America, but imagined that the arrival of autumn and winter is the same there as in other places, and the process of getting ready for them is the same. And then it struck me that we are all children of our Earth. It does not matter what country you look at. We are all Earth’s children, and we should treat her as our Mother.

Soviet Cosmonaut Aleksandr Alecsandrov In / The Home Planet, quoted from Stanislav and Christina Grof’s book, “Spiritual Emergency”

If we had no winter, the spring would not be so pleasant; if we did not sometimes taste of adversity, prosperity would not be so welcome.

"The warmest blankets of peace snow only from the heart."

Even in the winter, in the midst of the storm, the sun is still there.  Somewhere above the clouds, it still shines and warms and pulls at the life buried deep inside the brown branches and frozen earth.

There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature ~ the assurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after the winter.

All Nature seems at work.
Slugs leave their lair -
The bees are stirring - birds are on the wing -
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make nor pair, nor build, nor sing.

There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Of Cathedral tunes.