In the daytime it’s nothing. Just some trees, a subtle descent; a gray, traffic-jammed highway sits in the distance. People walk by the overlook. They keep walking. People don’t stop during the day, because in the daytime it’s nothing.
It is in the night when it’s something. Winter has pulled the leaves off their branches, just as dinner and sleep have pulled the people back to their houses, and whether looking up or down from this peak, all I can see is stars. Cars fly and blur. Thousands of street lamps sitting, flickering into the distance. I stand still. I breath. I widen my eyes. It is in the night when it’s something.
In winter it’s everything. This is where I come when I feel the cracks. This is where I come when a friend passes. This is where I come when bridges burn. This is where I come when cold surrounds. In winter it’s everything.
It is never warm. Sometimes I wish it was. We come here in winter, expecting these lights, these stars, these tiny balls of fire to provide at least some hint of heat. But they’re distant. Whether swirling balls of gas or aging bulbs of glass, their beauty blinds when near. It is never warm.
This is why I walk in winter. This is why I like the cold. When the world says hibernate, pray for spring, I don’t. I don’t close my eyes. I love the leaves. I love the sun. But standing here, looking out through these branches, looking at the lights, looking at the sea, watching as the universe is reflected below my freezing toes. This is only possible when leaves have fallen. This is why I walk in winter.