Noticing.

Twelve years on, I should rightfully be tired of winter now, but I am only beginning to understand her a little better. I suppose the trauma of life has only started to dissipate, and the storms turn to a calm that comes with age and makes me stop and take notice. Because I stopped trying to survive and hold my head above water, I noticed the clocks go backwards this year. When my daddy still lived with us in this plane or realm, he would remind me in March and October. At those times of the year, though, he still makes his presence felt, or perhaps my mind does that for both of us.

This story is not about that. It is about the routine I have kept ever since returning to the land of my birth twelve years ago. Every year I have thought about shopping for a winter coat and boots. For years I would spend the money on something else and face the season wearing gear that displeased me because I was cutting corners. This year is different. This year I get to buy the coat and boots I truly want. This year I get to honor myself and the life I am building. Every winter gets better because each year I grow richer in the life I am living, in the choices I can make, and in the joy I allow myself to feel.

The ritual of preparing for winter has become quietly meaningful. It is the rhythm of shopping for what I need and what I love, of planning for the year ahead, of setting goals and finishing strong so the next year begins strong. Every year brings growth, and this year brings fulfillment. Winter is no longer only a season to endure. It is a companion that teaches patience, gratitude, and celebration in small victories.

I drink my tea slowly, watch frost gather on the edges of the windowpane, and take a moment to notice. The quiet of the season allows me to breathe, reflect, and plan. Each act becomes part of a rhythm that I recognize as my own.

The ritual is not about the calendar or the shopping list. It is about noticing what life has given me, about seeing growth even when it is subtle, and about holding space for joy in the ordinary. Each winter reminds me that I am richer than the year before, and that abundance is not only in things but in understanding, faith, and the peace I carry.

Winter has a rhythm that cannot be forced. It flows and bends and arrives on its own time. Learning to move with it instead of against it has become part of my ritual. There is a satisfaction in this alignment, a quiet triumph that feels like the turning of the seasons themselves.

Perhaps this is what ritual teaches. Not obligation, not perfection, but presence. The gentle noticing of life as it passes, the care with which one tends to oneself, and the steady hope that the next year, the next winter, will bring even more to notice, to cherish, and to prepare for. Every winter gets better because every winter brings more richness, more joy, and more freedom into the life I am living.