Maybe, I like winter.
It’s winter, it’s cold, and I’m not mad about it. A brief chat about winter walks.
Happy New Moon in Capricorn! This is not an astrology Substack, but
We had a new moon last night. I like to mark moon events with a walk to the lake. I didn’t yesterday. The cold got to me, and I was in a part of town from which it would take me over thirty minutes to get to the Léman. It just wasn’t meant to be.
Instead, I wandered about the quiet neighbourhoods home to people in a different tax bracket than me. I say that as if most of this city isn’t in a different tax bracket than me (I am currently unemployed, but ready for hire, please check my site, thank you). Instead, I took many guarded steps over the snow. Last night, each footfall sounded like a crinkled nose. The sky’s luminescent grey stuck around after sundown. The wind rendered my cheeks ruddy and my nose sharp. The bittersweetness of it always reminds me that some time ago I moved to a city I never thought to make a life in. The extreme of the conditions (to someone from a warm climate) make my presence here unmistakable. I’m gonna call that the magic of winter.
This is my third one in Geneva. I still haven’t made the effort (or the money) to ski, but the odd beauty of this season makes me determined to ensure that it won’t be my last winter in this locale. Despite the way the city empties out and despite the bitter cold and the windshield, this warm-weather native can almost affirmatively state that she enjoys winter. I don’t take vitamin D consistently enough for that to be the reason.
I started taking these walks toward the end of summer when my apartment stopped feeling like home. Winding walks, through the city, punctuated by a stop in a “nature spot”, usually terminating within a couple of hours. They served no real purpose; they were just a great way to physically escape the foul and claustrophobic energy of my flat. I would walk as far as my heart needed and then turn on my heels and take the same exact path back. Often, I would end up at the Léman or by one of the rivers.
And in those days, seeking walks and water for relief, I became incredibly grateful for this quiet city. In my desperation, the trees took on a new meaning and gusts of wind began to signify some sort of embrace and then, I fell in love with the city in autumn. Each experience of sunshine became an affirmation. I became obsessed with the way leaves, especially that of the ginkgo, sit against the grey sky. I began to think even a scar of sun was enough. I had beautiful moments by the lake without entering the water.
And last night, I was tickled by the sound of snow.
Somehow, I have the lake to thank for that.
Next time, I’ll properly introduce this Substack. Please expect short pieces about living in Geneva, loving my proximity to water, and being a twenty-something. It’s not meant to be significant. It’s just meant to be honest.
Thanks for reading,
Geneva