The Coldness of Winter and the Warmth of Memory

Winter has a way of demanding our submission. Its cold is unrelenting, a stark contrast to the heat of summer that lingers in memory. The frost-covered mornings and bitter winds seem to call us inward, asking us to slow down, to rest, and to reflect. It’s a season of hibernation—not just of the earth but of the soul—a necessary time to rediscover ourselves in the stillness.

As the cold presses against us, we may find solace in our memories, particularly those that remind us of warmth. I often return to one summer in particular, a blazing August spent traveling through Italy with my family. The air was so thick with heat that no shade, breeze, or amount of ice could bring relief. Even the drinks, chilled as they were, never stayed cold long enough.

But there was one moment, one place, where relief came unexpectedly: a natural spring fountain in the small village between Rome and Naples where my parents grew up. The fountain, tucked into the heart of this little town, still runs with the coldest water I’ve ever felt. On that sweltering day, standing there with my family, I listened as my father shared a story that made the moment unforgettable.

He spoke of his own childhood, growing up in this same village during the 1940s. He told us how this very fountain held a place in his memory, not just for its refreshingly cool water but for a moment that changed his life. It was here, at this fountain, where he met his father for the first time. My grandfather had been a prisoner of war for eight years, and my father, then just eight years old, vividly remembered the day his father returned.

As my dad described it, he and his mother stood at the fountain, and from a distance, he saw a man—a soldier—walking toward them. That man was his father, my grandfather, returning to them after nearly a decade apart. My father’s voice carried the weight of that memory, and as he spoke, I could feel the significance of that spot, that moment, that reunion. The water from the spring was more than refreshing that day; it was grounding, a connection to a memory that brought both warmth and clarity to an otherwise unbearable heat.

As we endure the bitter cold of winter, it can feel isolating. The natural instinct to retreat, to hibernate, is not just a response to the weather but to the quiet invitation winter offers us. In this stillness, we can go inward, uncovering the memories and moments that sustain us.

Winter reminds us that extremes—whether the cold of January or the heat of August—can lead us to profound clarity. Just as the heat of that Italian summer made the cold spring water unforgettable, the harshness of winter can guide us to moments of warmth within ourselves.

In the depths of winter, we often forget how quickly the calendar turns. Soon enough, the frozen earth will thaw, and those impossibly hot summer days will arrive once more. Yet, winter’s gift is its stillness, its ability to slow us down long enough to remember. To remember the fountain that brought refreshment, the stories that carry us, and the moments that define us.

Winter is not just a time to endure but a time to embrace the inward journey it offers. Just as my father shared his story at that spring fountain, winter gives us the chance to reflect on our own stories, to cherish the connections and memories that sustain us, and to prepare for the seasons of growth to come.

So, as you feel the sting of cold on your face or hear the wind howl against your window, let winter’s quiet lead you to warmth—whether it’s found in a memory, a moment of gratitude, or the hope of what’s to come. The bitter cold only makes the warmth, when it arrives, that much sweeter.