I am learning to love the changing of the seasons and the unique qualities each possesses, much like the people I’m attracted to.
Being drawn to different facets of all four seasons in a way, being pulled magnetically to them like human beings, made me slow down and examine the smaller things.
If winter were to be personified, here’s how I would see ten people I love/am attracted to in the light of the current season.
1. The way his laughter sort of explodes out of his chest, like the strike of flint off steel or the snap of a winter branch. An addictive, bonfire laugh, one you’d reach for when the lights are off – cinnamon and clove and the flare of welding sparks.
2. Hydrangea petal irises, tinted with icicle edges and eyelashes like peacock feathers. She is everything sapphire and frost and pale skin like the snow before the world wakes.
3. His hands are snowy, sycamore trunks with years of scarring like the veins across frozen water. A peaceful delta, a mercury mirror, glistening in the midday sun with the steady heartbeat of the earth and the river beneath him.
4. There’s juniper and candied orange on her skin, the way Christmas smells when you close your eyes. And I wish there was a way to bottle that fragrance, but I can never catch it; it dances like fireflies around her – all static and big smiles and the lullaby of home.
5. My name is like spun sugar from his mouth, the dips and drawls all caramel over apple slices; his voice is the golden light you see from the window outside, woven with the moon over the salted sidewalk.
6. Gingerbread freckles paint her cheekbones; her hugs like fresh flannel from the dryer.
7. He is the weighty hush of unexpected flurries like a quilt over the ground; the settling in of the maples and quiet boundaries of frozen soil. There are moments of stillness within him, a rapture in the soft whispering of wintertime.
8. Her smile is peppermint lipstick, a gentleness in her eyes rippling above a crystalline smirk and black ice. Her humor is a white out on the highway, an unanticipated lunge into undiscovered timber.
9. Thunder-in-January footsteps, with grey eyes the color of a hailstorm; his charm is the rich dregs of a whiskey barrel and the rumble of a wood splitter in late fall.
10. Eyeliner like a waxwing on a holly branch, I swear her spine is built of iron and her heart the size of the Atlantic. It’s how she says: “I missed you.” Like she means it, like seeing me is finding her favorite sweater and curling up with a book.