"Safe From the Cold" (Text & Image Copyright Wylddane Productions, LLC)
“Winter is coming.” Those words from George R. R. Martin echo across the northwoods with a truth that needs no embellishment. Though the days remain mostly mild, we know the rhythm of the seasons well. Each frosted night whispers what is to come. Just two nights ago, the temperature fell to 24°F—a hard freeze, sharp and unyielding. In its quiet severity, it reminded me that one season is bowing out while another begins its solemn entrance.
Because of that freeze, I brought inside the begonia that had flourished on the deck all summer. Now, its blossoms—an unrestrained chorus of scarlet—fill the space behind my kitchen sink. As I placed it there, I leaned in and whispered softly: “Now you are safe from the cold.”
Those words, meant for the plant, ripple outward with deeper resonance. To be safe from the cold is not merely about sheltering from frost. It is to understand the mystical dance between the fire within and the freeze without. It is the recognition of the “invincible summer” Albert Camus spoke of—an eternal warmth in the heart that no season, no darkness, can ever extinguish.
The body may feel the bite of wind, yet the soul may still linger in springtime. To be safe from the cold is to turn inward, to find a quiet hearth glowing within. It is not just shelter but a gentle homecoming, a reminder that warmth begins in the heart. Even as the world outside grows sharp and bare, we can kindle a small light of peace that steadies us.
Winter’s hush is not emptiness but a season of quiet tending. Beneath the frozen ground, roots deepen and strength gathers unseen. What looks like stillness is really preparation, a gathering of breath before another blossoming. To be safe is to trust this rhythm—the slow work of life moving invisibly, faithfully, toward renewal.
And this safety is not ours alone. It is something shared. A kind word, a soft glance, a moment of laughter can warm another soul more than firewood ever could. When we keep our hearts tender, we become a flame that others may draw near, carrying one another through the longest nights.
Perhaps most of all, to be safe from the cold is to remember that change is never the end, only a transformation. The bare trees, though stripped of their summer glory, hold secret life in their branches. We too carry within us the promise of return, a strength that the frost cannot diminish.
This morning, as Haydn’s Imperial Symphony plays softly in the background, I sip coffee and watch the darkness pressing still against the windows of the wee cottage. I cannot yet see the day, but I know it is beginning. Morning stirs, unseen but certain.
And I am safe from the cold.
In these unsettling, dangerous times, may we all find that same sanctuary—that inner invincible summer, that shared warmth—and may we all be safe from the cold.
“The warmth we carry within becomes the light that guides us through the longest winters.” ~Unknown
~Wylddane
Because of that freeze, I brought inside the begonia that had flourished on the deck all summer. Now, its blossoms—an unrestrained chorus of scarlet—fill the space behind my kitchen sink. As I placed it there, I leaned in and whispered softly: “Now you are safe from the cold.”
Those words, meant for the plant, ripple outward with deeper resonance. To be safe from the cold is not merely about sheltering from frost. It is to understand the mystical dance between the fire within and the freeze without. It is the recognition of the “invincible summer” Albert Camus spoke of—an eternal warmth in the heart that no season, no darkness, can ever extinguish.
The body may feel the bite of wind, yet the soul may still linger in springtime. To be safe from the cold is to turn inward, to find a quiet hearth glowing within. It is not just shelter but a gentle homecoming, a reminder that warmth begins in the heart. Even as the world outside grows sharp and bare, we can kindle a small light of peace that steadies us.
Winter’s hush is not emptiness but a season of quiet tending. Beneath the frozen ground, roots deepen and strength gathers unseen. What looks like stillness is really preparation, a gathering of breath before another blossoming. To be safe is to trust this rhythm—the slow work of life moving invisibly, faithfully, toward renewal.
And this safety is not ours alone. It is something shared. A kind word, a soft glance, a moment of laughter can warm another soul more than firewood ever could. When we keep our hearts tender, we become a flame that others may draw near, carrying one another through the longest nights.
Perhaps most of all, to be safe from the cold is to remember that change is never the end, only a transformation. The bare trees, though stripped of their summer glory, hold secret life in their branches. We too carry within us the promise of return, a strength that the frost cannot diminish.
This morning, as Haydn’s Imperial Symphony plays softly in the background, I sip coffee and watch the darkness pressing still against the windows of the wee cottage. I cannot yet see the day, but I know it is beginning. Morning stirs, unseen but certain.
And I am safe from the cold.
In these unsettling, dangerous times, may we all find that same sanctuary—that inner invincible summer, that shared warmth—and may we all be safe from the cold.
“The warmth we carry within becomes the light that guides us through the longest winters.” ~Unknown
~Wylddane
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